


Fairytales are for Dreamers

by ConLeche, PumpkinChair



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Forgive Me, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Someone's Gonna Die, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, War, Will's speech is different, You're Welcome, a bit of internalized homophobia, basically a friend and I's rp, class shaming, rated for language and mild violence, this is long bare with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConLeche/pseuds/ConLeche, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinChair/pseuds/PumpkinChair
Summary: William, a peasant, is sent to the city by his father to buy some medicine to save his mother's life when the royal guards search the citizens once again for the mark of the royal family, the soulmate mark of the prince. Mason is not thrilled to find out his soulmate is both a peasant and a male, but fate has never really been his friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a roleplay between a friend and I, so its written in the format divided between the two characters instead of a normal story that would intertwine the two sides. I tried blocking it into more manageable paragraphs

William was an unfitting name for the farm boy. It held power and grace he didn't possess; it was clean and proper like he wasn't. No, he went by Will, a short and sweet name that revealed nothing about him. Will lived far out of town, among the tall trees and flowing river, away from the guards and political community. He'd never gone to school, learned only how to read and write from his parents. He was happy out here where he could spend all day outside in their field taking care of their crops and sometimes livestock. He was happy, healthy, and free, and he never thought he'd have to step foot into the city. His mother had fallen ill one day and their medical herbs just weren't working for this kind of sickness, so with a heavy heart, his father sent him off to the city to get the medicine they needed. Now, they didn't have a horse, so it would take a good portion of the day for Will to walk to the city. He left at the first signs of daylight, a lantern in his hand for the trek back. He didn't know what to expect from the city, but he'd heard it was grand and luxurious, no place for a commoner. However, his mother was in need and he'd press on, even if the town cast their eyes at him in disgust. So, after entering the city for the first time in his life, the country boy set about to find a drug store that would be willing to sell him the medicine he needed. Will was honest and kind, innocent and raw to the world for he didn't know of corruption and ill-will. It was no surprise when the pharmacy charged him more than needed, but what was a surprise was the guards announcing they were going to do another search. A search of what, he didn't know, but it was the fear of not making it home in time that had him standing still as a guard approached him. Will shrank back under his harsh gaze but kept eye contact, something the people around him didn't seem to do. "What are ya lookin' fur?" Ever the helpful soul, the dirt covered boy smiled up at the guard who seemed bored of this already.

  
"Just hold out your arms," and so he did, and the guard looked over every single inch of his skin starting with his shoulders and ending with his hands. His breath audibly hitched as he turned the boy's hand over to inspect his palm, the other hand holding the bag of medicine. In his palm was the intricate design of the royal family crest, an elegant pattern of swirls and loops that came together to encase a single rose. "Where'd you get this?" The man asked after several minutes of trying to smudge it off the boy's palm.

  
"What ya mean? Been there since I was born." Will didn't understand what was so special about the mark; he'd been told at a young age it would lead him to his soul mate like his parents, but he'd never really bothered looking. He didn't plan on leaving his parents side any time soon. "Is there somethin' wrong with it?" The guard shook his head and grasped his hand, leading him away from the crowds of other people being searched to present him and his palm to the higher up overseeing the search. It took only seconds for Will's mark to be authenticated and before he knew it be was being shoved in a carriage and carted off to the castle with great haste. He was still only worried about the medicine not forgotten on his lap.

Mason wasn't exactly a proper name fit for a prince, it seemed too simple, yet still held a uniqueness that had never been heard of before. Though the way the young man carried himself, was more than enough to excuse the absurd name. Born into the royal family, the Gleeful boy had been given high expectations to uphold as the next in line to take the throne as king. He and his sister both received phenomenal education, learning proper etiquette and such to ensure neither would do or say something to tarnish the royal family name. It was overwhelming sometimes to the boy, having to fulfill so many duties at such a young age. He was well trained in warfare and swordsmanship, having to learn many of these tactics early on for when he was to inherit the throne. In public, the male presented himself as generous and compassionate, his smile bright, though misleading. Behind castle walls the Gleeful was a terror. His remarks could make anyone cringe in fear, and his aggression built up to extreme levels, though many were too intimidated to correct him.

As a part of royalty, he felt as if he was better than the common folk of the kingdom, almost disgusted when hearing of the latest news of the kingdom and its subjects. Out on the balcony of one of the wings of the castle, stood the boy with dark brown hair; his short, soft curls framed his perfect features, all except for an odd shape of a constellation, etched into his forehead. The Gleeful boy had just finished his school lesson, deciding to step out for fresh air. His cold, blue eyes pierced through the mid-afternoon light, scanning the scenery from out beyond the castle. It was mostly green hills and trees, the sky a vivid blue, streaked in slices of white. A couple birds sang their sweet harmonies, while the water of the most sloshed against the bricks of the castle down below. Mason leaned forward pressing his weight into the brick of the balcony's wall. The gold and jewels of his outfit caught the sun's light, reflecting off to the space around him. His cape and hair brushing back in a gentle breeze that rolled through the empty hills right outside the city. He sighed inwardly, his eyes falling to the familiar crest that adorned the palm of his hand. He let his fingers of his other hand trace the small swirls and details, finishing it off, by enclosing the rose in the beautiful swoops and curls of detail. He too, had possessed the same recognizable pattern since birth, though he found the reason somewhat strange. The clanking of a carriage that rolled down the dirt road so quickly, snapped the boy from his thoughts, wondering what on earth could be that important. Shrugging off the interruption, Mason pulled his stabbing gaze back to the scenery as the carriage rolled across the bridge and to the castle's entrance. It wasn't that a few moments later that a servant of the castle was to retrieve the young prince, ushering him like a child down to the castle's foyer.

  
A new guard had met the carriage at the front entrance of the palace to escort Will inside. His smile was bright and charming yet it didn't quite meet his eyes, and Will felt his hand twitch as if ready to revolt once he placed his own within it. He was still clutching to the bag of medicine, his right hand crumpling the material as his fingers dug into it, forcing it to fit against the curves of his fingers and palm. This was a major detour from his original goal and his lantern lay forgotten in the carriage as he stepped down with bare feet onto the smooth stone below, warmed only by the shining sun. He was only able to marvel in it for a second before he was being pushed again, hands of urgency that attempted to ignore the filth that was clinging to the peasant. Will had never felt out of place before, but as he took his first step onto the cool marble floors of the castle it was made clear he didn't belong. And though he still didn't know why he was there, and no one seemed keen on answering his questions, he felt no threat from the high ceilings and ornate decorations. He wasn't allowed beyond the front foyer, greeted only by an elegant grand staircase, and the maids to his left were just itching to scrub every inch of his skin clean, to banish the filth there before the prince even saw it, but they'd waited a lifetime for this day and nothing would interfere with the Prince's soulmate's arrival. Will was, to them, absolutely nothing. He was simply to pacify the masses, and since he could not produce an heir to the throne, utterly useless. It was more of a formality to have him within the palace walls, to keep him as a figurehead with no real connections to ruling the kingdom.

The anticipation for the Prince's eminent arrival had all those who were present holding their breath; Will too could sense he was about to come face to face with one of the most powerful men in the land and stood up straighter, scuffing his feet along the floor nervously. Maybe after he met the prince he could return home and give his mother the medicine, to ensure her longevity and health. He didn't have time to spend in the palace, for a reason still unclear to him, but as he chanced a glance around again, it was becoming more clear. Scattered throughout, on people and decorations, was the mark occupying the space of his palm. It appeared to be a family crest of some sort, though he must say it looked prettier in color. Will unconsciously ran his thumb of his opposite hand across the mark, eyes wide in understanding. Everything his parents had told him about it was coming to the front of his mind and he audibly took an intake of breath. He was, so it seemed, to be the soulmate of the prince, one they've been searching for, for years to his immediate knowledge. The situation felt all too real to him, and he was struggling to cope, shoulders tense and quaking with the utter anxiety he was feeling over this new development. The man that was meant for him to love and love him in return was royalty, and he was a peasant. So low a peasant he lived outside the city limits and spent everyday out in the sun playing. Now though, it seemed his uneducated self was to live here, among the elite and the important and win over the entire population as nothing more than a false monarch and the pressure was already too great for him to handle. He was, however, snapped out of his self destruction when the prince finally arrived, and his blood ran cold.

This was a man that exerted sheer dominance over anyone in his path, a silent cruelty about him that manifested just barely in his speech and attitude. Will could honestly say he felt out classed and dumb in his presence, the dirt clinging to his body no longer the comfort of home but a harsh reminder of just where he came from, that he had no business here, in the palace, meeting a man people only dreamed of. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut, though it wasn't like he could have managed to speak anyway with his jaw clenched in fearful awe. He did, however, brush his unkempt black hair from his face with his free hand, exposing bright blue eyes and more of his tanned skin and freckles. He was essentially the essence of the common people manifested in the foyer of the palace: confused, out of place, and fearful.

The prince glanced around at the gathering of people; he thought he was perhaps needed for an impromptu meeting regarding an issue of some sort. However, he was only greeted with many curious eyes, staring expectantly back at him. His jawline was strong, and clearly clenched in frustration from being pulled from from his rare free time. An audible irritated huff tumbled from the male's mouth; stepping further into the middle of the area, maids stepped aside to keep out of his path. The boy's piercing eyes finally fell to the black haired male that stood in the center of the congregation. The dazzling crystal chandelier, that hung in the center of the foyer, glistened and glittered in elegant patterns. The grand staircase seemed endless, the exquisite details that were hand carved into the stone of the walls and the family crest placed strategically about the room was a reminder of the overbearing presence of royalty. For a moment Mason could only stare at Will, looking him up and down, picking out detail that was out of place about him. He took in his tanned features, the dirt that covered his skin, the freckles and the blueness of his frightened eyes. The material the the other clutched tightly in his hand too caught his attention, unsure of what its contents could possibly be. He was washed over with confusion as to why the peasant has been brought beyond the castle's walls, though this was quickly replaced by disgust. The prince's dark, ice blue eyes seemed to tear into the farm boy like polished daggers, showing his distaste.The silence was suffocating, as if everyone in the room held their breath in uneasy anticipation. The brunt stepped a little closer, the buttons and metal buckles on his clothing rattled when he moved, filling the room with a bitter tension. Whatever this was, he had no time for it, he only wished that someone would explain what was going on. Pursing his soft, seemingly gently lips, he drew in a small intake of air, before speaking, a noticeable edge in his voice.

  
"And who might you be?" He never let his gaze falter away from the other male. He held himself with confidence and a look that could frighten anyone. The air only seemed to empty out of the room faster, no one willing to stop the male from saying anything that came across as rude or unpleasant. He folded his arms, waiting for the other to reply. Since being born into the the royal family, and soon to be taking the throne as ruler, the male, in his eyes, always held himself in a higher position than others. He pushed himself to be the best he could, for one day all the power he wanted would be in his hands. Being taught of the government and how to maintain it at a young age, the male had been mesmerized with the concept power, soon craving nothing more. Love never was a true interest to Mason, though he was constantly reminded that someone out there was his soulmate and vice versa. He was always explained to about how heartfelt encountering the person who was meant to be his was, though it seemed to good to be true. He only wished to suppress his thoughts of affection. Though, as cold as the prince could act at times, he was not opposed to finding love, it was just the one thing that never seemed plausible for the him to find.

Will parted his chapped lips to reply to the question, before pausing and shutting his mouth again. He couldn't speak, overwhelmed by the prince's sheer presence before him, intimidating him in a way he'd never had to experience before. He stared right back at him, gaze unwavering and unafraid despite how he truly felt. The man, to him, was utter physical perfection: his hair was soft looking and fell just right to avoid a disgracefully unkempt state, and his skin was free of flaws, even going as far as to be blessed by the heavens themselves on his forehead. Perhaps he was blessed with intelligence, something Will could never match with the basic reading and writing skills he possessed; anything else wasn't needed for a simple farmer. The brunet was far above him, as if a single word could banish Will from this place, which it probably could. As the farm boy continued to fumble for words and regain a normal breathing pattern beneath his newly found anxiety, the guard from earlier, the one that lead him inside with the shallow smile, stepped forward and hovered his hand over Will's shoulder, refusing to touch him now that he didn't have to, disgusted once again. He smiled at the prince, delighted to explain their accomplishment, that after long years of searching, they'd discovered his destined partner.

  
"This, Your Highness, is your soulmate." It was out in the open now, and some of the maids too low in the chain of command to know, audibly gasped. The guard then leaned down and whispered to Will that he needed to state his name, since the man had asked him a question. This seemed to kick start Will's mind and he mumbled out in a meek voice, "Name's William, sir." What the guard said had his mind reeling anew as the prospect of his thoughts confirmed, out in the open, terrifying him. He couldn't be this man's soulmate; he was petrified just standing close to him, and he took a step back, putting some distance between them. He felt like he was melting under all the their gazes, their judgment penetrating his soul and burning him from the inside out. He was just a peasant, a nobody to these people, insignificant to their daily lives. All he was good for was making food for the masses and staying out of the way. It must have been life's cruel joke on the royal family to have their son's soulmate be not only a peasant, but a male one at that. The gentle curve of Will's body were hidden beneath loose scraps of clothes and his soft, effeminate features masked by layers of dirt. He truly could be beautiful, have an innocent and charming face, but that seemed insignificant in his current state with his untrimmed hair and slouched posture. Will was quivering, a wave of nausea washing over him as his anxiety only spiked higher the longer he stayed there. He was drowning in his own thoughts, barely keeping himself from succumbing to the delightful urge to just pass out right there in the middle of the room. He took another step back, eyes wide and darting around for any sort of exit.

  
"I think... there's been some sorta mistake." Will muttered, voice weak and wavering.

The guard let out a laugh, high and cynical. "Nonsense." He said, words absolute, authority in his tone that demanded his words be followed. He must have had a lot of experience commanding people, Will thought idly. "The mark on your hand proves you are the prince's soulmate, there's no mistake about that." He was pushing Will forward again, blocking him from fleeing the room like he so desperately wanted to, as if he knew that was what was happening. Terrified blue eyes slowly turned their gaze back to the man before him, though now he couldn't bring himself to look him in the face. Instead he gazed at his clothes, at the shimmering metal and the functionless decor that littered his attire. To Will it was gaudy and served no beneficial purpose to the outfit, but that again was not important in this predicament. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, pulse racing. This was wrong; he shouldn't be here. He should be at home with his father and mother, giving her the medicine she needed and going about his day as normal. He had crops to care for, animals to feed, daylight to make the most of. Slowly, maids and other servants began to filter out of the foyer as they had jobs to return to. Their gazes, it felt like, stayed in the room, however, and Will felt each one. Thinking back, the peasant had never seen more than five people at one time and here he was standing in the middle of dozens, watched from a distance like some sort of exotic animal at a zoo that might take their arm off if they touched it. It made him feel filthy, more filthy than the dirt alone could accomplish. He stared, unseeing, down at his bare feet, gaze tracing the complex pattern in the marble as he tried to calm himself down. Will was experiencing his first taste of self hate, of the bitterness of rejection and insecurities, of corruption and ill-will. He was overwhelmed and for the first time, of many to come in his life, having an anxiety attack.

Mason's blood ran cold in his veins, the feeling of ice being injected into his body, making his stomach twist into knots. The color drained from his flawless face, leaving him looking pale, almost sickly. His eyebrows laced together, frustrated with the current situation. The prince scanned the farm boy's features once more, letting the guard's words sink into the icy, chilling silence of the room. Scoffing, he eyed the tasteless clothing, and the layers of dirt and messy hair. The longer he eyed the other the more revolted he became by the peasant. And that is all the prince saw Will as, just another low class human being he never had intentions on interacting with. Gulping, his transfix gaze fell to the guard, who spoke for the male. He shook his head gently, causing his soft brown curls to bounce and shift, framing his face in slight difference. Biting the soft flesh of his bottom lip, Mason finally parted his lips to speak, his words wavering with distaste.

  
"You have got to be joking, right? This has to be some sort of mistake, this can't be my soulmate." His voice was changing from disbelief to ridged, becoming more aggressive with each word that dripped from his mouth, like the venom of a cobra. He huffed, his face contorting into something that resembled a sneer, a flustered red creeping into the brunet's cheeks. "This isn't right at all. It's impossible. This is not how things were supposed to work out. And just look at him, he's not even royalty." The harsh words hung in the air, as if a thick fog of an early summer morning, lingering in the rolling hills as the cool dew dripped from the blades of delicate grass. He clenched his fist that was adored by his family's crest, his nails digging into his palm, as if to erase its existence. His knuckles jutted out in aggression, the white color a visible warning anyone not to get too close. This was almost a joke to the prince, it was implausible. None would ever think of a prince to be with someone of such low social status. Mason was given the highest education, clothes so expensive, many would not see that much income in a lifetime and responsibilities of becoming one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. What would his family think of him? He would become a joke, being to be destined to be with not only a male, but of the lowest class nonetheless. Slowly he pulled his fingers from his skin, his dangerous gaze sinking to stare at his palm, his deep blue eyes shimmered; they were two small oceans, the angry waves crashing endlessly against jagged rocks, mentally tracing the familiar pattern. The prince moved his eyes to stare at Will's hands, his apprehension of seeing the other's matching symbol engulfing him like a fire that licks up intensely; the heavy, suffocating smoke making it hard to breathe. Taking a step backwards, trying to keep more space between him and the peasant, he shook his head giving a bitter, untrusting laugh.

  
"You incompetent brutes, must've found the wrong person."  His voice was low and dominating, almost daring to be corrected. He wetted his drying lips, his exhale sharp. The prince's demeanor was one to be feared, as if one mistake could be the last. He held himself with an intimidating grace, his body well built and masculine. His clothing fit him to bring out the power he radiated, decorated in expensive materials. His face and body was almost chiseled perfection, a creation of Michelangelo himself. His features were sharp, yet handsome all the same. But at this moment, he felt almost weak, unable to void the facts. He felt awkward standing before his alleged soulmate, though he would never show it physically. He didn't understand why this had to happen to him, why he had been chosen to be with someone completely opposite of himself. He felt betrayed by the tales he had been told as a child of finding his soulmate. When he was younger, he pictured the day his soulmate and he would meet. He imagined a beautiful woman, perhaps even a princess to another royal family, to whom they would share ruling kingdoms. She had long beautiful hair that fell elegantly against her face. Her smile rows of pearls, her eyes the color of emeralds, accompanied by stunning dresses, made of the finest silks. Though now his fantasy seemed laughable given his harsh reality. He hated the entire situation, he hated the guards for searching so long and hard; it was absurd to think that his soulmate was found at all. It was a stroke of luck, or perhaps true destiny to come across the boy. As the crowd of people began filing out to return to their duties, the tense environment began to push down more belligerently. So now here Mason stood, his chilling blue orbs slicing into whom he were to love, resenting every minute of it. Not wanting to believe any of situation to be true.

Despite the physical perfection of the prince before him, Will could only see him as ugly. He could understand disbelief, and mild irritation given his status, but he could not stomach the fact he was being insulted. A frustrated blush coated his cheeks as he scowled, once again feeling shame for his position in society. Not everyone could be spoon fed since the moment of birth. Not everyone was blessed with money and power and infinite wishes. Who was this man to judge him for his appearance and where he came from? When had he even stepped foot on unkempt ground? Before he could voice his obvious displeasure with Mason's bias criticism, the guard, seemingly unnerved by the prince's behavior since he technically held no authority over him, stepped between the two much younger males.

"Your highness, I assure you, we've made no mistake. Please, you can scrutinize his mark as much as your heart desires." There was a mirth to his voice that gave way his amusement, practically challenging the brunet to approach the peasant, to touch the filth covered skin that made all their skin crawl. Will made a noise of protest behind him, his anxiety replaced with anger. He never consented to this, though it wasn't like they were interested in his opinion anyway. They spoke as if he wasn't in the room despite being the root of all their problems. Will, for once in his life, found that there was no trust he could put in these people. The rulers of the kingdom that should protect and provide for all their people couldn't even handle standing near one of them. Will had imagined the meeting with his soul mate quite differently. He figured he or she might stop by his family's house, lost in the woods where they lived; he figured they'd be kind to him, understand what a hard working and loving family he came from. They would be a happy addition and Will would finally leave to build his own house in his own image just like his parents had. He dreamed of a loving relationship, one filled of sweet words and even sweeter kisses. He craved romance and equality from his soulmate. Will wanted to live a carefree and fulfilling life. He found none of these things from the man before him. He was cold and arrogant, entitled and bitter. Truly, there was no way this man was his destined partner, but the marks never make mistakes.

Will stared down at his palm, lips pursed in frustration and curiosity. He wondered if the prince was different in private, or if he always acted this way. Perhaps, there would be a relationship to find in such a way, one based solely on time spend together. The man snorted at the thought and covered his grin with the hand he had just been scrutinizing, amused by his own thoughts. Someone like Mason who was this openly revolted by Will wouldn’t act any differently if it was just them. That was wishful thinking at best and he knew it, but he couldn’t find any other way he could possibly grow to love this man.

Giving a quiet huff of air, the prince swallowed the bile that was forming in the back of his throat. For a moment he stood there, falling silent for once since his arrival. The situation was becoming too overwhelming for the male to comprehend. He was mentally cursing the universe for pulling such a cruel card on him. Part of the male wanted to tell the guards to take the other male back to where he came from. Another part though, poked curiously at the realization of hitting such a grand milestone in his life. Mason wished to leave the room, to turn hastily away from his problems and return to his previous whereabouts. But, he knew that he would only be brought right back to the same situation once again. Biting the inside of his cheek, the Gleeful boy forced himself to gaze up at the guard who stood between him and his soulmate. The size difference was almost comical. The prince appeared less significant standing face to face with the tall, muscular guard. His broad shoulders and deep voice could hold an extensive amount authority over others, if it weren't for the prince's presence. Letting his eyes lock with the taller man's, his harsh, angered features softened ever so slightly. His face heating up a light red in a new wave of anger, embarrassment and shame. Not shame for himself or his behavior, but for the destiny of a member of royalty to spend his days loving someone of opposite status. If word got out, he only imagined the mockery he, and perhaps the rest of the royal family could face. Mason's lips were pursed, his eyes burning in wrath. For a moment the boy, stood, staring as if he was angry at this guard alone for escorting Will into the castle. Finally shattering the glassy silence, Mason spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse from the pause of quietness.

  
"Step aside." He waved a hand at the guard, glancing around to meet a couple eyes of a few of the castle's inhabitants that had decided to stay to watch the whole ordeal. Taking a few slow steps, Mason finally brought himself to step closer to the peasant, analyzing his features better. Only mere feet away, the Gleeful bent slightly to match the height of Will's, tilting his head as if he was inspecting something other than a human being. The brunt first scanned over the other's messy, black hair. He noticed how different strands fell and stuck together and overlapped one another in different ways. He looked over his forehead and nose and chin, the specks of dirt and mud that had layered on the other's tanned skin making his stomach churn lightly. He wondered how anyone could be happy or healthy living in such filth. The prince's dark blue orbs fell over his dark freckles, seemingly counting all of them, before his gaze dropped to the tattered and dirty clothing and lack of shoes. He studied the rips and tears of the worn out fabric, the way they loosely clung to the boy's body from how small he came across as. He took note of the sack he still held tightly in his hand, thoughts bothered him to know of its contents. Looking the boy back up, Mason unwillingly had himself look into the peasant's bright blue eyes. For a moment he was mesmerized, his angry, concentrated features melting. Mason could pick out every little detail in his eyes, the different shades of light blues coming together to create something more brilliant than the day's clearest sky. But, as quickly was his features dropped, they quickly snapped back to the former state. He made a light humming noise, his eyes not leaving the other's, before he abruptly snatched the other's free hand; an instant regret filled him as chills of disgust rolled down his spine when he felt the gritty layers of dirt touch his own clean hands.

He was almost fearful to look at the other's palm wary of what he was about to look at and judge for himself. Slowly bringing Will's hand up to better light, Mason turned the boy's wrist, his mouth going dry at the sight of the intricate details of his family's crest. He ran his thumb over the details, like he had done to his own earlier, his eyes scanning every line, hoping to find any sort of mistake that could otherwise tell that they had the wrong person. Bringing his own hand to compare the other's they were seemingly identical in shape and pattern. A pit began forming in the brunt's stomach as he let the other's hand go in a slight pushing force, wanting to be rid the filth from his own hands. Brushing his hand against his suit, he shook his head, his eyes moving its way up to the guard once more. The blue shimmered as if begging for this entire situation to be some sort of set up.

The guard stepped aside when ordered, a mocking smile on his face as Will was once again presented to the prince. Lowell had served the royal family for many years, watching new monarchs rise with their soulmates and their children grow. In all the generations he’d seen, never has a peasant been bound to a royal. Of course, Mason didn’t have to marry his soulmate—who followed laws anymore—but it was highly encouraged. Those few royals that did not chose to rule with their soulmate by their side usually had reasons other than social status and that information was hidden from the public. They didn’t need average citizens thinking they had a chance of becoming part of the royal family. But, here they were, with a peasant among them, basking in the raw wealth and power around him, yet reserved from the man before him. Lowell found it amusing, and just had to tease the prince about his undesirable soulmate, even if it wasn’t with malicious intent. To Will however, everything they did and said was ill-intentioned. Mason stood before him, disgust clear on his face and with his hesitation. Will took the time to truly get a look at the prince as well, comparing him to all the people he’s seen that day. His brown hair was combed and styled back to ensure it wouldn’t disturb him throughout the day, his locks glistening under the light from its sheer cleanliness. Will’s gaze trailed over his clear skin, cheeks a bit flushed and tone a bit sickly from not seeing sunlight regularly. He noted his strong features and harsh eyes, yet his gaze was continuously drawn to the lines on his forehead. He had seen them before, in old books about the night sky, and it filled him with an odd sense of calm, it being the only familiar thing he’d seen all day. He recognized the pattern from all his stargazing and barely even noticed when Mason snatched his hand. He noted briefly that the fingers wrapped around his wrist were soft, not calloused like his own hands were. As the prince inspected his palm, Will leaned forward to get a better look at his forehead, eyes curious and questions already forming on his lips.

It was as if he forgot where he was and all the people watching, breaths catching in anticipation for the prince’s explosion of rage that didn’t seem to be coming. Will was broken out of his trance when Mason shoved his hand away, stumbling a bit backwards once he realized he had been standing on his tip toes. He cradled his hand protectively to his chest, looking down at his own palm as if he was burned. He felt sick to once again be rejected by the man before him and he took a step back, fingers clenching tightly around the bag he was holding. Lowell stopped the young man’s progress with a hand to his back, a light touch that Will wouldn’t have felt if he wasn’t hyper aware of what was around him in the moment. He too looked up at the guard, seeking him out as the wise man in the room, though he asked no questions, hardly finding the will to even continue to stand under all the harsh gazes being continuously sent his way by on lookers.

  
“Why don’t you introduce yourself, your highness?” Lowell began, grin in place. “He is your guest after all. Shouldn’t you treat him civilly? He’s already told you his name.” Will was once again angered that he was being treated like he wasn’t too in the room, but there was nothing he could do at this point but turn his attention back to the prince, watching his face to gauge his reaction to the guard’s provoking. Wrath was never something he’d found to be a good trait in people. It was a destructive force that did not mix well with his gentle nature. Wrath was truly terrifying to encounter. Lowell took his hand away from Will only once he was sure the man wouldn’t try to flee to what ever dump he had crawled out of, and simply stepped aside, distracting himself with shooing the stragglers that wanted to stick around. They all had jobs to do, all important ones that would not be left alone for more than a few moments. With the guard gone, Will took a few more seconds to look over the prince, studying his attire this time instead of the stars blessing his head. He hummed to himself, noting the pointless accessories on his clothes and how stiff they seemed on him. It was as if he couldn’t move without the clothes permission first and yet they followed him as well. He wondered how he got anything done dressed in so many layers and decorations, though it occurred to him the prince didn’t actually do work. Well, if soft skin was anything at all to base that logic off of. Furthermore, the man didn’t have a speck of dirt on him, other than what came from Will, and it perplexed him as to how. This man practically lived in a bubble. It was amazing he was even walking on his own with how much was seemingly done for him. Perhaps his family simply valued education over hard work unlike his own, which believed learning came from experiences. On a whim, Will reached out to take the prince’s hand to look over the mark on his palm, much like the brunet had done to him before, except he was much gentler in the process. He traced it over several times with his fingers, oohing and awing to himself at how pretty it looked on his pale skin, not covered by dirt and mud and other such things like his was. It was a gorgeous mark, fitting for the prince who was just as gorgeous. But, Will had learned that even the prettiest things could be ugly on the inside.

A look of abhorrence and shock fell across the prince’s features as he felt the other male grab his hand, his filthy fingers running over the smooth, clear skin of the mark in his palm. His eyes fell to their opposite hands, his eyes burning into the other’s flesh. Who did this peasant think he was, grabbing royalty like that? He had no right to reach out and touch the young prince, well that was Mason thought that at least. A light sound of evident discomfort tumbled from the prince’s soft lips as he rose his other hand, using the back of it smack the other’s away, before he tore his own hand away from the other male’s hold. The brunet didn’t hit the other hard enough to cause any sort of great pain, but it was a sharp enough sting to get the message across that he didn’t want the peasant touching him. His hateful eyes broke from Will to look at his hand, expecting there to be some sort of altercation or imperfection from the other’s touch. Biting his lower lip, Mason huffed out a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing back to the black haired boy.

“Never do that again.” His hissed lowly, his words dripping in bitter venom. It took most of Mason’s willpower to not reach up and shove the other away from him. He knew he’d be scorned for not treating his subjects with respect, but at the same time he felt betrayed and worthless having a person of the lowest status standing before him. The person that he was to love and cherish forever was currently the man he disliked the most. Love was nothing Mason payed attention to, it was a strange feeling that he never wanted to bother dealing with. Standing before Will, the prince truly felt nothing but a burning feeling of repugnance that licked up in harsh, hateful flames inside him. Clenching his fists, the prince tried to regain his composure, though the redness in his cheeks and cold, icy eyes made it difficult to bring back any sort of calmness to his appearance. Mason felt that nothing was a better attribute to a person than high power and authority. Weak links are what caused downfalls if not handled correctly. Being too tender or generous was a danger, it was important to know of your surrounding as well as the people in it. People were only out for themselves and to seek power for their own gain. It was something Mason had been warned to be wary about since he became old enough to take true responsibilities of a prince. For a moment the Gleeful boy stopped to assess his actions, a slight pang of regret piercing at him, though he didn’t let it bother him too much. He wasn’t going to apologize for it anyway. Minding Lowell’s words, the young prince took a few steps backwards away from Will, sighing.

“Anyhow,” He began, his voice altering to a more serious tone, bending his body slightly in a bow. “I am Prince Mason Gleeful-” He moved back up to look Will, as he had been taught at a young age to address himself to people, “Though, I do hope you are at least competent enough to know that much.” His voice held a snarky tone, almost challenging the other male to say something back to him. His eyes scanned the black haired boy, analyzing his current features. Part of the Gleeful told himself to not be so harsh in his words or actions, the peasant had as much desire as he did to be stuck in the same situation. Other parts told him that he should be grateful for having someone to love and be with forever. But, the emotions that suffocated the rest of his thoughts was pure disgust and worry. He knew he’d not have to marry his soulmate, but it was looked down upon by almost all the inhabitants of the kingdom and the lands beyond. Mason feared criticism and hate, which one could call hypocritical, for he had no issues expressing those emotions to others himself. He thought of the Gleeful name stopping at his generation, he’d not have anyone else to carry on the name of the royal family. Sure they had his sister, but she’d soon marry off and give up her name as a Gleeful, leaving Mason to be the only left. The prince found no desire in marrying another male, and resented the universe for placing him in such a predicament like this in the first place. How could he love someone like this when he had a job to fulfil? He was to be the most powerful man amongst his people and here he stood having the cruelest, sickest joke being played on him right before his very eyes.

Mason felt half sick due to the rushing questions, thoughts and anger that coursed through his body. Scuffing his shoe across the brilliantly polished marble of the floor, the Gleeful looked to the walls behind Will only to be greeted with the symbol that was part of the root of his problems. The gold and deep blues of the royal family crest seared into the prince’s eyes, his face dipping into a soft, yet solemn gaze before he met his eyes back to his to be lover. His dirty, tattered clothes and messy hair was almost laughable to look at. The lingering smell of earth clung to his body in a revolting manor. Compared to the utter cleanliness and perfect decorations of the royal, one could not guess that destiny called for them to be together. Perhaps as the saying goes, opposites really do attract.

Will flinched back as Mason slapped him, his hand stinging with reprimand. Anger once again flared within him, brought on by being treated as someone lesser. He was just as much of a person as the prince and he had the right to examine the man in turn. After all, he let the man scoff at him and snatch up his hand for his scrutiny. He tried to muster as much condescension in his gaze as possible as he stared at Mason while he bowed slightly to introduce himself, his bright blue eyes darkened with his own disgust for the prince. He couldn't fathom why anyone would allow a wretched human being such as himself have any position of power when there were many more capable, compassionate persons who would treat authority as something to be honored, not entitled to. Thin arms crossed over his chest, pulling the cloth tight to his form and finally offering any such indication to his dimensions. He was smaller than the prince by quite a bit, but he most likely held more muscle and agility. He'd have no problem inflicting pain on him, though that wasn't something Will wanted to do. He huffed a heavy sigh through his nose as the shame of uneducation assaulted him again, deflating as color flooded his tanned cheeks.

"I, um," Normally confident in his words, it was uncomfortable for Will to have speech fail him as many times as it had been that day, leaving him feeling dumb and incompetent in the face of the wealthy and powerful. "I'm sure it's a pleasure to meet ya, sir, but I didn't know ya existed 'til a few minutes 'go." The peasant answered honestly, voice low as if speaking a secret. He didn't want anyone in the area to know that he was this incompetent, though the information had never held any importance to him. What was important, was the weather and patterns of the season, of what animals were in the area and how to care for the land around him. History, politics, math and sciences were hobbies he didn't have time to indulge himself in. Will straightened up as he ran a hand through his hair, paying no mind to the small rocks and other miscellaneous minerals that shook out of his hair at the action. He was used to it, comfortable in the normalcy of the earth and dirt clinging to his being. He felt in tune with the world around him, with the warm sun and swaying breeze. He never spent much time inside, confined in the walls and furniture. He licked his lips before addressing the prince again, his gaze flicking around the room.

"Though I s'ppose the feelin's mutual." He wanted Mason to feel the same shame for also being unaware of his presence. Who was he to expect all his subjects to know his name with reverence when he, himself, probably couldn't name a single peasant. Though, he wasn't even sure why it bothered him so much, as these feelings are unknown to him. Never in his life has he even thought of lashing out at another person, to make them feel the pain he was now feeling. He'd always been careful with his words, polite and respectful to those around him, even if it was a few people, but this man before him was making him experience these foul emotions and he felt like crying all over again for this wasn't his usual self. Before he could seemingly self destruct, Lowell had returned, prying Will from his thoughts as he instantly shifted his gaze to the guard, his mere presence demanding the black haired youth's attention. Lowell regarded him with a forced smile before turning to Mason, his posture straightening up. "The princess requests you move your "meeting" somewhere more.... private. She says the ruckus around the castle is giving her a migraine." Will felt bile rise to the back of his throat at the thought of there being two of them. Maybe there was even more. It was sickening to him, that the wretchedness could exist in more than one person. Will moved to cradle his bag in his arms, rising up on his tiptoes to tap Lowell on the shoulder—he felt like he was made of steel. "'cuse me sir, y'all took me from deliverin' med'cine to my mama. She real sick." He said, his anxieties that had frozen him minutes ago were pushed back as he got more comfortable in his surroundings.

Will needed to get home, to relieve his mother and father of their worries for his return and her health. He'd momentarily forgotten he couldn't be wasting his time here and now it would be night before he even made it halfway home. Where was his lamp anyway? He couldn't travel this time of day without it. Will was beginning to get restless, chewing on his lip and shifting on his feet—they has begun to stick to the floor and they made a disgusting sound as they peeled off the floor. His temporary calm was now replaced with restlessness and Lowell noticed his glances towards the door. Sure, the prince would most likely be delighted that he left, possibly to never return, but they had many things to discuss and couldn't allow for the peasant to depart from the castle so soon. He hadn't even met his soulmate's family, the ones he would soon get to know very well if the prince chose to actually marry him. "Please, calm yourself, you'll see your family soon enough." He vaguely tried to appease the man, but his shallow lie was easily seen through and Will became even more visibly upset. He said nothing, however, and backed down, curling in on himself like he'd previously been, eyes downcast instead of meeting the Prince's gaze as he'd been. It was one of the only times he couldn't make eye contact, couldn't politely assert himself. He was taught not making eye contact was a sign of weakness but he'd never felt so weak in his life. He was helpless to do anything; they would easily bring him right back kicking and screaming if they had to, could even throw him in captivity. He truly should just play along, allow everything around him to pull him along and fit himself into what was expected of him. Though, he'd never been the best as figuring these things out. Perhaps they would never let him see his family, never let him return home and go back to his hold life, and he didn't think he could marry someone that would allow that to happen.

Mason stood, his arms folded across his chest. His features were cold, not even a hint of regret or sympathy showed in him for hitting the other. If it was for the prince's own gain would he do something on impulse, but granting the same privilege to someone else to intrude in his personal space was a mistake. If it wasn't clear yet, Mason was a cold hearted and selfish human being. He only cared for few things in his life, not appreciative of much. Standing before the peasant was nearly laughable to the brunet, his body structure non-threatening to the prince whatsoever. His trying, angry eyes not even fazing the man in the slightest when he had returned to an upright position. His own words causing a small smirk to pull at the corner of his lips. Mason held an intimidating sense of power over anyone he encountered. Even compared to the rest of the royal family, his hatred and constant state of discontent stood out among the others. Even his twin could be more of delight than him, though rare, it was possible. No one ever seemed willing to help change the behavior of the two children, not only for their wrath, but from the other royals as well. Serving the Gleeful family was a constant walk across thinning ice. And unless a worker had some sort of respectful position or relationship with one of the members of the family, one word may be the last. Mason's eyes fell to the farm boy's form that was making itself more evident, another sound of displeasure brushing past his teeth and he looked over the other once more. With more of a definite shape of his body, Mason raised an eyebrow, somewhat impressed that the peasant looked a bit stronger than before. Pushing his thoughts out of his mind, his features rested in a smug state as the other struggled with what he wanted to say. Tilting his chin up slightly at the other's timid words, he waited for Will to continue his sentence. Mason's ego began to inflate at the other's words, as if what the peasant was telling him something right for once. Though, as quickly as his ego grew, it suddenly fell. His eyes narrowed as he bit the inside of his cheek taking in the last few words of the black haired boy. For a moment he stood quiet, a new wave of disgust and anger washing over him. He was almost offended that the peasant didn't even know of his existence. How could one of his subjects not even know of the contents of their kingdom's royal family?

"You fool... How could you possibly not know who I am?" His voice grew, an edging anger becoming more apparent. He let his voice bounce from wall to wall of the foyer, not bothering to care if anyone heard. Shifting his gaze back to Will, the prince's blue eyes watched as miscellaneous substance fell from the other boy's hair. The small pelts of the small grainy objects falling against the polished marble nearly sickened the Gleeful. He moved around uncomfortably, his face expressing his unease. Mason was never very familiar with the outdoors. He never had time for it, always busy with the duties of his family. He never could run about in the warm kiss of the sun or gentle swaying breeze. He never touched dirt or mud, never ran about the greening grass of the spring or summer. It was foreign to him, and he'd always wished to experience it one day. Though, his hopes were always discouraged by his 'Duties of Being a Prince'. When time allowed, he enjoyed standing out from the balcony of his room or walk in the courtyard to enjoy the warmth of the sun or cool breeze. Sometimes, if he felt so daring, he would sneak out after the sun had set to witness the beauty of night's creation. Mason had always felt a deep connection with the night; the stars more than anything. He enjoyed finding the constellations that he had read about in his books, the Ursa Major in particular, for it had blessed his own forehead since birth. Though, as he began to mature, Mason more frequently found himself confined to the space of indoors. He slowly began to accept that he'd never know anything different, the walls of the castle slowly shaping his feelings of comfort and familiarity. The added words of the peasant made Mason's face fall, letting the point of them to sink in. Mason's face flushed in frustration once more, his rage overriding his other thoughts. "Well of course, but-" He paused, scoffing. "Really, it is quite ridiculous that you are not educated enough to know your superiors."

Though Will's point was fair, the prince looked past anyone else, only thinking of himself. Since he was a prince he expected automatic respect, he usually received it anyways. Why was this any different? Mason never felt repent for anything that came out of his mouth. As a prince, he felt if he had the authority to do so with no repercussions. Putting his attention back Lowell, he gave a nod as if a signal allowing the guard to speak. The mention of his sister made his features lace into that of one of annoyance. He rolled his dark eyes in irritation, shaking his head, his soft brown curls bouncing. "Always so demanding." He huffed, a bit quieter, before speaking up. "But of course, as she wishes. I'll see to it that we move." His voice seemed on edge and forced. Though, before he could turn to move Will's words of his mother seemed to freeze him. Looking at the bag the other was still holding tightly to, grabbed the boy's gaze once more. So, that's what he had been holding this entire time. Medicine. Piecing together the knowledge of him being a peasant and his lack of knowledge of the inner city, he surely had to be a visitor. Scoffing at the peasant's complaint of his mother, he folded his arms across his chest, waiting for Lowell to take over the situation. Maybe, Mason could use this to his advantage in getting rid of Will. When Lowell finished his attempted words of reassurance to the peasant, Mason took that as a cue to move to a new location. Turing on his heel in haste, his cape caught the small flow of air, brushing close to peasant, as he began walking briskly down the hallway which he came from previously. He folded his arms behind his back underneath the fabric of his cape, his posture and stride showing his poise. He glanced quickly behind him, expectant that he were to be followed. The glances from a few servants he passed only reminded him of his newfound problem.

Making sharp turns down different hallways, Mason navigated expertly through the labyrinth of a castle. His rage and thoughts kept pressing at him, anger bubbling up inside himself once more. "Oh, what kind of cruel joke is this anyways? What have I done to deserve such a burden in my life?" Mason was more speaking to himself, though if quiet enough, his voice was audible. He kept his pace steady, his arms unfolding from behind him, moving his hands as he spoke to himself, becoming more enraged after each word he spoke. Stopping in front of a doorway, he turned abruptly to Will, jabbing a finger into the farm boy's chest harshly. "You. This is your fault! There was no need for me to meet my soulmate. I was beginning to lose hope of having one and then you had to show up out of nowhere. Marriage has been the least of my worries. I would've been perfectly fine never knowing a dirty peasant such as yourself." He paused, letting out a heavy breath his enraged eyes meeting Will's. Using his newfound knowledge of Will's mother he stepped closer. "Perhaps if you would have just let your mother die from whatever illness that she contracted, neither of us would be in this situation right now." His voice dripped a cold poison as he turned his back to open the door to the new location. "Truly, you could return to whatever pig pen you came from and it would not affect me in the slightest. You could leave for all I care." Though, Mason's words were harsh, they held no definite authority. As much as he disliked his current situation, he knew his soulmate was destiny. His entire family line has chosen a life together alongside their soulmate. Being the first to break such a sacred chain could be a huge mistake on his part. Maybe he needed a kind heart to show him the good in the world. Wasn't that the purpose of a soulmate after all? Sure though, it wouldn't come easily if he kept pushing the other away from him in his frequent blind rages.

Will ignored most of Mason’s disgusted outbursts towards him―Mama always told him it wasn’t a good idea to start an argument, especially when mad. He felt small and powerless, a mere speck of dirt to be brushed aside by the prince. The way the man spoke, his posture and disgust of peasantry, commanded attention and submission, his dominating personality easily pushing Will down. Will was a coward, he now knew. He wasn’t made for arguing or standing up for himself or others. His confidence, what little he had, was constantly wavering, a front he put on to seem undisturbed. But now, with the fresh idea of never returning home, of his mother dying, he found it hard to hold himself together. Will was at a breaking point, tears threatening to build up in his eyes and knees to buckle. He clutched the bag to his chest tighter as they began walking through the castle, Lowell following close behind Will to make sure he didn’t get lost from the prince’s fast pace. Will’s strong curiosity couldn’t even get him to raise his head as he walked, his gaze instead focused on his feet and the cape gliding in front of him. A part of him wanted to grab the fabric, to yank the man back and scream at him until his voice gave out, and another part just wanted to hold the fabric and admire the silky look to it―it kind of looked like a blanket.

Will could hear the prince mumbling to himself, becoming more animated as he worked himself up. He couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to his words, however, thoughts otherwise occupied with his mother. He mostly took after her with her blue eyes and soft features. Her smile could outshine the sun and she was always offering him encouragement when he needed it most. She was his cornerstone, the strongest person he knew, and when she fell ill, it was earth shattering. He’d never seen her look so pale and fragile, so broken and hurt. He’d never seen her sick before because she didn’t like Will worrying, but she couldn’t hide it anymore and the medical herbs they had finally stopped easing her symptoms. Will’s father had done all he could with what little information he knew on the illness, and had sent him off to get the one thing that could save his mother’s life. He had traveled all day anxiously to the city, the weight of the task heavy on his heart. Truly, he shouldn’t have stopped for that guard; he should have kept walking and got out of town. Afterall, he didn’t live there. He had no obligations to let the man search him for the mark, had no responsibility to the kingdom to allow this to happen. When had they ever helped him? And who was this prince to scoff at Will for not knowing who he was?

The royal family surely wasn’t paying for scum like him to get their education, and they didn’t even know Will existed. He had been content living as a farm boy, of tending to plants and spending all his waking hours in the sun. His body was in tune with the sun’s movements; he woke up at sunrise and went to bed at sunset. He loved feeling the gentle warmth on his skin during spring and summer, he loved the snow in winter and he loved the sounds of summer. Now, though, this cursed mark on his hand, no the prince himself, was going to take that all away from him. Maybe he’d end up pale and weak like the aristocrats, maybe he’d speak false words and look down on others like the royalty. It was truly a nightmare he wanted to wake up from. He was roughly pulled from his mulling when the prince directed all his bottled up anger at him, the words spat at him only fueling his own rage. The prince was selfish, entitled, and all around a sickening person and Will had had enough. Mason had crossed a line and there was no going back. No one shames his family in such away. Blinded by his own rage, Will swiftly raised a hand and brought it down across the prince’s cheek, the resounding slap drawing the attention of anyone in the immediate area. Will was crying, tears freely falling from his hardened eyes as he shook, swallowing back his sobs to speak in a starling calm voice.

“You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout my family. You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout me. Who gave ya the right to say my mama should die? Who are ya to judge me fur not knowin’ nothin’ about the royal family? I don’t see ya doin’ any hard work, carin’ for others, learnin’ ‘bout yer own peoples.” Will took a ragged breath, anger mounting as his voice picked up in volume. “Don’t ya ever talk about my mama ever again! Ya can insult me all ya want, ya can look down on me, hit me, disgrace me, but don’t ya ever, ever, say my mama should die.” Will roughly grabbed the prince’s collar, pulling him close as he sneered, eyes burning from the tears and voice wavering. “Yer a sick son of’a bitch. I bet ya don’t even know what family really is. Yer a disgustin’ little man who’s ego crushes those ‘round him. I may look like trash to ya, but least I was raised right.” Will pushed him away, finally allowing himself to break down into sobs as he took off down the hall, dodging Lowell’s arm when he tried to grab him. With blurred vision and a lack of knowledge of his surroundings, the peasant quickly got lost, slowing from his run once he was several halls away. There were windows here, seeming to display a garden of sorts beyond.

Will followed the view until he saw a door and he didn’t even hesitate to step outside. He was comforted by the plush grass under his feet, the warm sun greeting him once again. Sobs wracked his body as he began walking through the garden, delving deeper and deeper until there was nothing but bushes and beautifully cared for flowers all around him. He sat himself down in the middle of what looked to be a group of rose bushes, the shade they cast across the grass giving him a nice spot to regroup. He shouldn’t have hit that man, shouldn’t have said the things he said, but he was so mad, so hurt that this man could think of himself above another person’s life. Will didn’t want to be here any more than the prince wanted him, but he would never wish death upon another person. Will pulled his knees to his chest, the bag in his lap. “I’m sorry.” He cried, shoulders shaking with the force of his tears. “I didn’t mean to get that mad, please don’t be mad at me mama!” The black haired man sobbed openly, tears a constant flow down his face and neck, dampening his clothes and the grass below. He cried for what felt like hours until he couldn’t produce anymore tears, his eyes puffy and an angry red. His voice was hoarse from his wailing, his apologies and incoherent babbling. Part of him didn’t feel bad at all. He knew Mason deserved everything Will did to him, but the guilt was eating away at him. This was supposed to be his soulmate, the one person who could understand him better than anyone and balance him out. But, it seemed, fate didn’t want that. Instead, it gave him a man that was too full of himself to even think about others and now his mother was going to die. And yet, he could only blame himself. It was his fate that got his mother sick so he would go into the city, it was his fate that was going to kill her, and it was his fate that was preventing him from going back to her. Mason was just another pawn in fate’s cruel punishment. Perhaps he had had too good of a life up until that point. Maybe he was too happy and ignorant in his sheltered life at home. this was a hell of a wake up call for him, and he found that despite all of this, he still only wanted to go home.

He never wanted to see Mason again, and he sure didn’t want to marry him. Though, back where Will had left Mason, it was quite a mess. Lowell watched stunned as Will slapped and screamed at the prince before running off, easily avoiding his hold. He tried to keep the peasant where he could see him, even following him down the hall, but the man was surprisingly fast and the guard just couldn’t keep up. By time he returned to the prince, maids and other personnel were all over him, brushing him off and asking if he was okay. No one knew what to do. No one had hit a member of the royal family before. Lowell was torn if he should alert the king and his brother of this development, or if he should send the prince to go find Will. One would surely lead to the peasant’s death. He sighed heavily before dismissing the helpers, grasping Mason’s jaw and looking him over. There was a vibrant red mark on his cheek, the color standing out against his pale skin. It looked like it stung quite a bit, Will’s small hand printed clearly. The guard was secretly pleased, glad the prince had been put in his place for once, but the blow up from him was sure to be massive. The prince had a temper Lowell hadn’t seen in a royal for a long time. Mason always seemed to be irritated, dissatisfied with everything around him, and he sure wasn’t used to something not going his way. “Are you alright, your highness?” He asked, voice void of the smugness he felt as he let the man go, straightening up. Perhaps he should send someone for ice to help the mark go away. If Mabel caught wind of this she would never let him live it down. The prince, slapped by a filthy peasant, he could hear her cackling now. The princess was something else entirely. Whereas the royal family was stoic and typically cruel only inside the palace, she was open with her disgust, and the general population hated her the most. Lowell couldn’t blame them; he hated her as well. But, back to the matter at hand, the prince had insulted his soulmate, and the boy had fought back. He hadn’t seen spunk like that in a long time, especially towards a royal family member. The guard didn’t know if he should be amazed or find Will to be a complete idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William and Mason finally talk and there is an escape attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to put out
> 
> rping is hard

Will cried until he ran out of tears, his face blotchy and eyes bloodshot. His head was pounding with a headache and he wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his mother’s arms. She would have smoothed out his hair and spoke softly to calm him down. She would have talked through the incident with him and reminded him that even though he was justified, he wasn't raised to hurt other people. She would have known how to make him feel better. A fresh wave of homesickness hit him hard as he curled more into himself, wallowing in his self pity. He could hear footsteps making their way towards him, but he didn’t have the energy to move, his limbs feeling like lead. It was easy to ignore the newcomer as he pushed back into the rose bushes, the branches and thorns pricking his back and sides.   
  
Though, when Mason spoke, Will felt anger flare up within him once again. Why couldn’t he just have some time alone? No one wanted him around anyway. He was nothing to them, as was made abundantly clear. Will raised his head to rest his chin against his knees, his face stained with tears. He felt worse than he looked, but it was easy to tell he was not feeling alright. He felt as if he was under water as Mason talked to him, his words sounding muffled to his ears. He could hear the ice in his voice, the sharpness to it that put Will on edge, and when the words finally did reach him, tears freely flowed from his eyes again. Look at that, he could still cry. Standing on shaking legs, Will made his way towards the prince again, grabbing the front of his shirt with as much strength as he could muster, though it didn't come off as threatening but rather a child seeking comfort.   
  
“No need to be so sensitive?” Will parroted, the words heavy on his tongue as he spit them out, the tired look on his face hardening dangerously. “How would ya feel if the, the person ya care for most in the world was dyin’? How would ya feel if some man ya didn't know, and that didn't know yer life, said he wished for their death?” Will knew it was a mute point. The prince didn't care about others. He hadn’t felt the warmth of companionship or family, and Will perhaps shouldn’t be so rough with him, but he was so hurt, so ready to lash out and drag Mason down to where he was, to make him feel what he was forcing Will to. “I’ve grown up all my life with only my parents. I didn’t go ta school. I didn't play wit’ other children; there was none. I didn't talk wit’ the travelin’ merchants or any other peoples that passed by. It was just me, mama, and papa. And now that my mama is dyin’, and just because i'm some filthy country bum, ya think its ‘ight to tell me she should die? And i ‘pologize for hittin’ ya,” Will grumbled, forcing out the apology with as much sincerity as he could manage. “but someone’s gotta remind ya that we’s all people. Ain’t no one person above all the others. Ya may have money and whatever else comes with bein’ royalty, but yer life doesn’t hold more value than mine. We’s all equal.” Will’s voice softened the longer he spoke, his hand falling away from the prince as he began to pace the area, lingering over some flowers to coo or smell them. They were exotic to him, foreign from the land they came from, but he recognized them from books he had read.   
  
He always thought roses were beautiful, white ones more so than red. And in his opinion, roses had some of the softest petals. He turned towards Mason again, wiping the tears off his face with the back of his hand, though it only seemed to smear the caked on dirt more. “You’re right though, they just words. But yer words seem to be truth ‘round here. Though i don't know why. Ya ain’t the king.” Will commented idly as he sat back in the grass, comforted by the familiarity. The garden reminded him of home, though it was more domestic than he would have liked. He couldn't see any wild flowers or berry bushes. It was as if this land was used specifically to show off. Well, the entire palace felt that way to him. Will looked up at the sky, tired of crying. The blue sky looked back at him cloudlessly, the sun already moving towards nightfall, though not enough to darken the colors. He let out a hum in thought, glancing at the bag he left on the other side of the space. He didn’t have much more time he could afford to spend here.   
  
“Why don’t we start over?” Will didn't take his eyes off the sky, didn't stand or even attempt to smile. “My name’s William Cipher. I live… well, i don't know what this place is called but i live outside the city. My parents are farmers; i am too i s’ppose. I’ve got this weird birthmark on my palm that says whoever matches it is my soulmate, but ya don't seem too keen on that. Um, I know how to read and write, if ya were wondering. I'm not dumb.” He’d come to accept in his short while here that his education was severely lacking, but he probably knew more about plants than Mason’s gardener. He laid back in the grass to feel the entirety of the sun’s warmth once again, soothed by its gentleness. He turned his head to the side to stare at his birthmark again, tracing the elegant design with his eyes. He always thought the matching person would be classy and well educated, but instead he got a spoiled brat. Most people in Will’s position would feel honored their soulmate is someone so attractive and high status, but now Will wished it was someone like him. Someone poor and earnest, someone he could trust with his life. Mason was not the kind of person he would bring back to his folks for dinner, but he couldn’t deny the man was attractive.   
  
Will frowned to himself, once again conflicted if he should feel ashamed about how filthy he was. It was normal for him, but to everyone else he looked uncivilized, perhaps even feral; why did he care what they thought again? Will wondered if he would be seen as attractive if he bathed, if he scrubbed away all the dirt, grime, and home he’d acquired throughout his days. If Will looked the part of an elite would Mason behave differently? Would he be treated with civility? It didn't settle well with Will that appearances were held so highly within the kingdom. He turned his gaze to the prince, who seemed so out of place amongst nature. He wore dark, flashy clothing. Blues that didn't mingle with the earthy and floral tones around him. Mason reminded him of a wild cat he had encountered once. The poor dear was so unused to human touch that it hissed and swiped at Will, but as soon as he had placed a hand on it, it slowly began to warm up to him. He even managed to feed it. It kept coming back after that, though it seemed to forget the day before and lash out again. It became less and less until it would curl up with Will when he was outside.   
  
A smile spread across his lips at the memory, the warmth returning to his eyes. A soft breeze brushed his hair out of his face as he continued to study Mason. He was still curious about the mark on his forehead. He didn't know much about the stars, but even he could recognize the pattern. Will was convinced the man was blessed, though it was becoming more apparent that it may not be for a noble purpose. Will liked to believe that at one point Mason was curious about the world, wanted to explore like Will did. Maybe he would even map out the stars, or read novels about travel. Will liked Huckleberry Finn the most. Perhaps Mason was just held back by obligation, but there was still so much to explore here. Will doubted the man had been to every nook and cranny in the palace. It reminded him of an ever changing maze, as if one hallway you walk down may not be there when you go back. It sent a bit of thrill in him, the itch of curiosity pulling at him to explore the castle walls. But, all of that was unimportant. Will probably wasn't allowed to stay here. Mason would dismiss him and he'd be sent back; he just hoped it wouldn't be too late.   
  
Lowell was growing bored of waiting for the pair to return. He knew, to some degree, it would be fine to leave them alone, but he was bound by servitude to remain at the garden doors, watching where the prince had disappeared from. He knew Mason was brash and insensitive, cold and unforgiving, but Will seemed to be passionate and warm, a personality that could clash and overpower Mason's, perhaps even soften him. Lowell let out a sigh, releasing tension in his shoulders until he heard footsteps at the end of the hall. Stanford Gleeful, current king, came towards him, the heavy shall he wore around his shoulders flowing behind him with the kind of intimidating grace only a royal could possess. Lowell straightened up, the stiffness to his shoulders returning as he stared ahead, watching the glass doors once again.   
  
“I heard they found Mason's soulmate.” Stanford began, stopping beside Lowell and staring out at the garden as well. The guard swore internally, cursing whoever told the king of the news. This was not a good position to be in, that Mason was treating his soulmate so poorly, or even the fact Will was so poor. The king was even more cold and calculating than Mason; he was ruthless. He held strong to traditions, since he too married his soulmate. He valued her greatly, though no one was sure if it was love or political gain. She died shortly into their marriage, producing no heir, and his brother Stanley had no heirs of his own so the line skipped over them. “Where is he?” The king continued after a prolonged silence, glancing at Lowell from the corner of his eye. The guard bit his tongue before finally speaking, the King's loud voice ringing in his ears. If he didn't comply, it may be him that gets kicked out.   
  
“Well,” he cleared his throat, gesturing towards the gardens. “The young prince was not… pleased with his soulmate. He said some offensive things, the other man slapped him, and ran in here. I sent the prince after him to… fix the situation.” The king hummed in understanding, not even worrying about the fact Mason had been slapped. That was unimportant, what was important, was that the prince had insulted the person he was to spend life with, the one that would rival his own power. It did strike him as odd though, was the fact Mason's soulmate was a man. He didn't think his great nephew was even interested in those of the same gender. He rubbed his chin as he thought about this, deciding to wait this out with Lowell. He'd need to see for himself what the man looked like. Perhaps it was another member of the elite or even a royal. No one seemed to want to tell him the status of the newcomer. He settled into a chair against the wall, legs crossed.   
  
His great nephew was his prized pupil. He followed teachings well and understood his place in the Gleeful line, but perhaps he didn't focus well enough on his people skills. When there was something to gain from someone, you treat them well to get them on your side. Soulmates to royals were there most powerful asset in controlling the masses; Mason didn't seem to understand that. Will would keep him in good favor with the people, keep them from revolting. Stanford hadn’t been to lucky as a widower, since his policy only got harsher. The people sympathized with him however, and everyone just quietly waited for Mason to take the throne, which, with Will now found, would be rapidly approaching. Mason was thought to be a kind prince, one that would look after the people, but if only they knew what he really thought of his citizens.  
  
Mason watched the other male back into the roses, as if he wanted to be as secluded as possible. Though the brunet kept his flow of icy words going, not even hesitating as the other moved. He had seemed to speak louder, making sure Will was aware of his presence and authority. Standing with his arms folded across his crisp uniform, the prince watched the other’s shaky attempts to rise. For the first time in a while, the brunt fell silent, surprised that the peasant had the will to get up and face the prince yet again. As Will raised a hand to grab the front of the prince’s jacket, Mason couldn’t help but flinch. His arms dropped, tensing up uncomfortably in defense. He had jolted his head to the side, his eyes squeezing shut and his hair jerking out of place slightly. Mason could still feel the ghost of the stinging sensation throughout his face; the memory of the pain the slap to his face brought him nearly pricked his eyes with tears. The peasant’s harsh mimicking words were enough to silence the young prince, his eyes burning in anger and embarrassment, though they were not willing to make eye contact with the other male.   
  
Instead of meeting the farm boy’s crystal blue eyes, Mason instead kept his gaze on the numerous roses that encircled them. He had only been out in the garden during the day a few times, never really getting a chance to appreciate the flowers much. The softness of the petals seemed soothing, though the thorns about them kept them from being truly admired. It was a bittersweet metaphor of the two young men. Will was a sweet, compassionate rose. Gentle and radiated a sense of innocence to the world. Though, Mason was the thorns that were dangerous for others to be around. He was harsh and unforgiving, never given the proper care or love, since no one was able to approach him without fearing him. The peasant’s words hit Mason, each one registering clearly, yet he couldn’t bring himself to argue with the other. Mason was well aware of the peasant’s strength now and he wasn’t prepared to say something that could potentially cause him more harm. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the farm boy, his eyes scanning rapidly across anything in his surroundings, except for Will. He knew he had gone too far with his words and actions, but he wasn’t going to apologize for his behavior; the prince had far too much pride in himself to do that. Mason knew his family held strong to traditions, each had loved and protected their soulmates dearly; he’d never be able to explain his hatred without sounding egotistical.   
  
He was raised with strong morals and customs when it came to accepting the soulmate that was chosen; both of twins were taught that the universe was never wrong when it came to choosing who loved ones would become. But Mason’s was rebellious, and he was handed everything in life, whatever he wanted was his and when something weren’t to follow by his exact words there would be hell to pay. When the peasant had finally let go of the other male’s shirt, Mason exhaled sharply, he had been holding in an anxious breath without realizing it. Brushing a hand across his chest to smooth out the fabric of his suit the peasant had his grip on, Mason finally let his deep blue gaze trail back up to the pacing boy. There were so many things he wanted to say to contradict the other’s words, yet no words were willing to form on his tongue. Mason was restricted to the thoughts trapped in his mind. His lungs ached to snap and degrade the other once more, to tell Will off, but instead Mason was being drowned in his own ocean of thoughts. It was as if the dark shades of blues in his eyes were a gateway to the angry waves of the sea in which resided in his mind.   
  
The entirety of the garden was unfamiliar to Mason, though many of times he had longed to be outside in the kiss of the sun, the job of being a part of royalty suppressed his curiosity until his childish desires were washed away. Mason found himself becoming more acquainted with marble floors and high brick walls. He was never able to enjoy the outdoors when the royal family made appearances in the city since he was always too busy stretching his face into an unpleasant, fake smile for the masses. For a few moments, the two males were both silent, Mason too finding his eyes gazing up at the cloudless sky. He had found the peacefulness of the garden reassuring, the tension in his body momentarily melting away. He admired the way the glossy leaves of bushes and trees reflected the sun’s light, the breeze causing them to sway and glitter. Blades of grass too were touched by the gentle breeze, the brunt’s soft hair brushing back away from his flustered face, cooling him off from the stuffiness of the inside. The breeze seemed to whisper gently to the male, murmuring to him words of comfort.   
  
At the break of silence of Will’s new words, however, Mason snapped his head towards the noise, nearly forgetting of the peasant’s presence. Rolling his eyes, the brunt huffed, but listened to his soulmate’s soft spoken voice. Perhaps starting over was the first small step in the right direction. He stood quietly, pushing the toe of his shoe into the plush grass, watching the imprint of it remain. Everything Mason had been taught about listening to others speak went completely out the window as Will began speaking to him. No eye contact, no curt nods or hums to indicate he was following along; he wouldn’t even let his eyes leave the view of the flowers amongst the bushes. Though, he didn’t have to look at the other to assess his words. Parting his chapped lips, Mason cleared his throat.   
  
“William.” Mason repeated, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I am Mason...Gleeful. As you can tell, I live here, along with my great uncles Stanley and Stanford, and my sister Mabel. Uhm. I too was born with a birthmark on my hand that indicated that I was to be with someone I was to call my soulmate, I also have a birthmark on my forehead shaped like the stars. Though, no one is quite sure why it is there.” Mason took a steadying breath, before continuing, he felt almost dumb repeating his own information back to someone else. “And very soon, I shall be made king of our kingdom, and take Stanford’s place.” The young man had spoken carefully with his words, and though they came off less aggressive than his previous words, they were still able to achieve his point of his supremacy over Will.  
  
Mason stood in place, watching as Will sunk back into the grass. He had kept the sternness in his face and eyes, but once he caught Will’s eyes staring up at him he avoided them once more. His face sunk, softening his features due to the awkward tension he felt under the other’s gaze. Instead, he let his fingers trace the intricate details of the family crest in his palm, though his eyes couldn’t help but fall right back to the other. They were both observing one another now, taking in details that wouldn’t have been noticed in the heat of their quarrel. The dark freckles dotted the other’s male face in organized chaos, his tattered attire rustling in the gentle breeze. Mason couldn’t help but note how well Will had fit in with the earthy colors and essence of the nature around the two of them. He wondered how differently Will were to look if he were cleaned up and given the sophisticated attire of an elite.   
  
The peasant seemed so in sync with the plants and flowers, it was clear the other male was meant for the outdoors. His tanned skin and freckles complimented the bright greens of the grass he laid in. It almost reminded Mason of the many times he had gone out star gazing; on the nights when the moon radiated a pale blueish glow, which reflected the stones of the castle. The moon was almost always accompanied by billions of twinkling stars and the planets that were close enough to earth to see. Nothing ever looked out of place. Not even the moon, as distracting as it might be on its own, being escorted by the simmering jewels of the night made it seem as if it were meant to fit amongst the others. It was as Will was then. Out of place, different from the rest, but still able to fit among the scene he was placed in. Outside, beyond castle walls is where he truly fit in the midst of the garden. Mason could spend hours talking about the stars; the science behind them. He had been told he graced by the heavens themselves, and Mason had a strong growing desire to learn and witness the breathtaking canvas of night.   
  
Not only did he enjoy the science of the universe, but literature as well. He enjoyed reading epic poems and stories of adventure; places beyond the mundane setting of the castle he was stuck in. From writings like The Aeneid to Gulliver’s Travels, Mason was always absorbed in reading and always craved more. He craved to be as adventurous as the characters in his readings, but he knew he never could. Gradually, the prince came to begrudgingly accept the fact he was only confined to the stories he read. Mason recalled times when he was younger, when he had slipped away from his studies or other activities to go back to his own room. He would sometimes reenact scenes from his novels, as if he were the one exploring deserted islands or sailing stormy oceans. Eventually, Lowell or other castle personnel were told to retrieve the young boy, much to Mason’s dismay. He was always told there was a time for work and a time for play, though work always seemed to be more important. Sometimes, however, if the work he had dismissed wasn’t crucial for the day, he was able to convince whoever was told to find the boy to stay and join him in his imaginary adventures. He remembered when he would sneak out of bed late into the night to stand on his terrace to look at the stars. Sometimes he’d make up his own stories of the constellations, talking them out to himself or anyone who was around to listen.   
  
A smile nearly pulled at the corners of the prince’s lips at the memories, but stopped as he reminded himself of Will’s company. The prince had been curious once, though, as he grew up his imagination and pleasantness faded away from him. He grew more bitter and out of touch with humanity as more responsibilities began weighing the man down. It was rare for him to see his own family; even his own sister was never around much anymore, not that he minded. The prince and princess had lost their parents at a young age, Mason nor Mabel remembered much about them. The Gleeful line had simply skipped over the twin’s father, putting Mason next in line. Neither of the twins were ever given the tender love or care that all children sought from their parents. And Stanford and Stanley had been far too busy to pay much mind to the younger heirs. Mason was quite literally lost when it came to understanding what true family or love was.   
  
A small part of Mason envied Will, he had all the time and freedom in the world to explore the outdoors. He had a family that he cared for and they cared for him back. Though, the majority of him loathed the peasant. He was dirty and less educated than him; the hostile side of Mason saw Will as inferior. He still wondered how he had been cursed to be with someone so opposite of himself. With tension in his shoulders and his eyes fixated on the outdoors, Lowell exhaled a heavy breath as Stanford settled in the chair behind him. Turning from his previous place, the guard stepped beside the king. The steps clicked and echoed through the long, high ceilinged hallway. Keeping his gaze on the doors, it was almost as if he was anticipating the two men to walk back inside. He wasn’t exactly sure how he thought the king was to react to the castle’s new arrival, or the fact that he was bound to Mason. There was a fifty-fifty shot of Stanford dealing with the news in a reasonable manner; the fact that the prince’s soulmate was a male was questionable enough in itself.   
  
Everyone knew Stanford kept to the orthodox traditions so with circumstances beyond the norm, there was no telling how things were to play out. Lowell was not prepared or willing to share with the king that Mason’s soulmate was a filthy peasant. He would just wait for the king to witness and judge the situation for himself. Perhaps if Stanford didn’t approve of Will, Mason could convince the man to send him off to where he came from and never return. Though, Mason was not going to bring up the topic on his own. Mason wasn’t one to admit, but he was intimidated by his great uncle, for multiple reasons. He was a stern, powerful man; and with the unfamiliarity between the two, Mason could never feel comfortable around his own family. They never saw one another regularly and interactions were usually stiff and awkward. He was easy to anger, the stress of his constant state of work always kept him on edge. Well, from what Mason had witnessed at least. There was a lingering feeling that bubbled in the prince’s stomach that made him almost sick. He feared that Stanford would force him to be with Will, not minding the strange conditions, since he stuck strict to the ethics of having a soulmate. Whatever Stanford said, went, and not even the prince could oppose those words. Mason wasn’t sure if he could come to love someone so different from him, and the thought of being with Will forever made him uneasy.  
  
William listened to Mason speak with a soft hum, watching the gentle breeze rustle his hair. He briefly wondered what it would feel like in his fingers, the silky strands easily parting under his touch.. It probably didn't have tangles, didn't hold onto all the dirt and grime like William’s did. It was shiny, a bit of sun kissed caramel color to it. William found that he rather liked it, even if Mason seemed a bit too pale with its deep hue. A soft smile spread across his face as he got lost in thought, an image of Mason getting dirty in the grass with him making him snicker. The prince probably scowled at the dirt, probably never had a grass stain on his clothes. William wanted to know who the boy was beneath all that stiff clothing and rules was. Was he really the heartless brat William had been acquainted with? Or was he just embarrassed and awkward to meet his soulmate so suddenly? William thought it was a mixture of the two.   
  
The boy couldn’t help but continue to stare, not registering his words. It appeared to the peasant that Mason was just puffing up his chest, wanting to seem above Will even now, if his tone was anything to go by. Mason had a nice voice, something not too deep but just enough to be masculine. It was soothing to William’s ears now that the prince wasn't yelling at him. It was a nice contrast to his own higher pitched voice. “It’s nice ta meet ya.” William muttered, voice barely above a whisper. He’d fallen into some sort of trance, the hush of the garden making him want to be quiet as well. His tone held sincerity, and just a bit of tenderness, wanting to shake off their previous hostility. He truly hadn’t meant to act so uncivilly with Mason. He was just stressed and humiliated, irritated with the man’s cruelty to him. William clenched his eyes to will away the memories, the venomous words echoing in his ears. He sat up then, his legs folded in front of him as he turned to face the prince, waving his hand at the area in front of him to indicate he wanted Mason to sit with him.   
  
William offered him a toothy smile, his face seeming to light up. It was as if he had already forgiven the man for his harsh words, for the degrading way he talked and looked at William. The peasant was a forgiving man, though it wasn't as if he was used to people talking to him that way. William waited until Mason sat, ignoring his reluctance to do so. William squinted his eyes at the prince, scrutinizing his face up close now. It was the fourth time he’d been this close, but the first few times weren't very sound mind encounters. Mason had strong features, ones that would probably be intimidating when he was older. His jawline was strong, cheekbones high and sophisticated looking. His hair fit his face nicely with all its fluffy glory, the color a shimmering brown that could only be granted by cleanliness. He met the boy’s eyes briefly, his softer blue eyes staring into Mason’s icey ones. It was as if there was a wall keeping WIlliam from seeing what was beyond, but there was a flickering of life, as if Mason wanted something, or of simply life.  
  
After a few beats, his gaze was drawn back to that birthmark, the soft lines and dots that almost blended with Mason’s skin. Maybe in a past life Mason had been an astronomer, a scholar, anything. William wanted to know if there was anything in the kingdom's records about markings like these, if they held any significance. William sat up on his knees to lean forward, placing his thumbs on the mark and tracing it reverently, ignoring Mason’s protests for the most part. He wouldn’t do anything to upset William again,if the way he was manhandled was fresh in his mind still. “Beautiful,” William mumbled, pure awe on his face. “Y’know, I don't know much ‘bout the stars. I think that kind of stuff is for the smart peoples wit’ too much time on their hands. Ya’d pro’ly wanna do that to huh? Ya seem like a smart guy, like ya wanna explore the sky or somethin’. I like to explore too, but I’m us’ly not allowed in the woods at night. Mama says there’s wolves but I aint never seen a wolf.”   
  
William continued to talk, prodding at the birthmark with his dirtied fingers. It only became a problem to him when he started covering up the birthmark under his fingers with grime. “Oh, that’s not good.” He muttered to himself, licking his thumb to wipe the dirt off and grimacing at the assault on his tongue. The gritty texture left a foul taste in his mouth. Of course, he’d had dirt on his tongue before, but it was never a pleasant experience. William glanced around the clearing once from his position, searching for some sort of water source he could rinse his hands off with. It seemed odd to him that the royal family wouldn’t have a well in the middle of all these roses, but who was he to judge. They were the rich people with their experts and extravagance. He stood up, spitting into the grass before placing his hands on his hips and looking around. He had heard the faint hum of rushing water when he had ran in the garden, but it hadn’t seemed important until now.   
  
Leaving the prince without a word, WIlliam began to backtrack, his steps soft as he listened for the water. The garden was like a maze with its tall hedges and similar patterns. He searched for what felt like hours, but was only a few minutes. William had gotten lost on his journey to find the water several times before he he stumbled upon the fountain, pure confusion on his face. Since when did water go up? Where was the water coming from? there were no transfer pipes or buckets in sight and it didn't seem as if the fountain went into the ground at all. The water shot up from the middle and rained down on the pool below, producing a refreshing mist when the wind blew right. William’s family got all their water from a well in front of their home and on some days, the river nearby. He approached the fountain with caution, staring down at the impossibly clear water. He could see his own face and clothes, the caked on dirt and whatever else that clung to his skin. He’d never thought his clothes were so worn as he did now, able to see how they barely held together. Recoiling at his own reflection, the peasant kneeled beside the chiseled stone, poking a tentative finger into the water. It was cool to the touch, and soothing. The water at home was gritty until you boiled it and strained it, but this water was impossibly pure, almost soft to the touch.   
  
There was a faint inkling of dirt mingling with the water when he pulled his hand way, and as quickly as it appeared, it dissipated. William marveled at the water, sticking his whole hand in next to watch the dirt and grime peal away from his skin, fascinated. He scooped water into his hands, letting it run through his fingers several times. It sure seemed weird to him that the royal family would leave such a large watering hole in their garden, but he was glad. Maybe now he could scrub off some of the dirt everyone was worried about. He wasted no time in dunking his head under the water, scrubbing at his face with his hands before coming back up. The water before him was murky, and William felt a twinge of shame that it came from his body. He spent several more minutes there scrubbing his visible skin. His freckles stood out more on his skin. his hair sitting in wet curls atop his head. It felt odd to be clean, as if even a speck of dirt could ruin all the hard would he’d just done. William’s skin was a bit sore from how hard he scrubbed, but it was worth it in the end. He looked down at the clearing water again, meeting his reflection’s eye. He had such soft features: large blue eyes, rounded cheeks, and a button nose. He wasn’t as intimidating as Mason or Lowell. The longer he looked at himself, the more he could see his mother in his face. He must have gotten his looks from her. He laid his head on his folded arms, swirling the water around with one of his hands.   
  
The sun was drying him off quickly, and he almost completely forgot about the prince he’d left sitting on the garden floor with dirt smeared on his forehead. A hot blush coated his freckled cheeks as he stumbled to his feet, his pace quick as he returned to the clearing, an embarrassed smile on his lips. He hadn’t meant to be gone so long, and he didn’t give the prince anytime to berate him as he kneeled before him once again, licking his thumb to rub the dirt off the man’s skin, often like his mother would do to him when he was younger. William sat back in his spot soon after, running a hand through his damp curls. “Sorry,” He sheepishly spoke, a soft laugh escaping him. “Did ya know ya have water that goes up? It’s like the sky is tryin’ ta take it back! I got ta see myself in the water! I never knew how dirty I r’lly was.” William couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice as he described the fountain to Mason, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. He must have seemed like such a simpleton to Mason, like he spent most of his life under a rock. William was so excited with his discovery though, and for just a moment, he forgot about the heavy weight on his shoulders until it came crashing back down.   
  
“I um, I look a lot like mama..” It left him breathless, the realization he’d gotten distracted again, the smile fading from his face as he stood once more, scooping up the medicine back a few feet away. It had always been easy for the peasant to get distracted, often forgetting tasks given to him, but this was too important to let slip his mind, and for that he was ashamed. “I, uh, r’lly can’t stay no more. I gotta.. help my mama.” William began shuffling towards the doors he came from, his head hung as he quickly moved through the garden, once again getting lost a few times. He could hear Lowell’s voice, a low murmur against the symphony of nature William was accustomed to. But, with that low tone, was another, one William didn’t recognize and he began to panic, heart racing as he tried to decide what to do. He could get past Lowell just fine; the man was older and slower, not a match for William’s smaller body. He couldn’t avoid two people trying to grab him at once, though. Turning down a new path, he began searching for a new exit, bile rising to his throat as he thought about what could happen if he got trapped in there and couldn’t get home in time.   
  
He was dumb, spending so much time there when he had many opportunities to flee. Maybe some part of him wanted to run away from his life, to escape the suffocating dependence he had on his family, but those thoughts were always short lived. He loved his family, he always decided in the end, he’d do anything for them. But there he was, now panicking because he was trapped in a maze like garden with no seeable exit and his mother’s life resting in his hands. William fumbled through the hedges until he found the path that led to a new set of doors, on the opposite end of the garden from where he came in. He wasted no time in pushing open the doors and running down the hall, his feet slapping against the ground roughly. The sound made him cringe as it drew attention to himself. Some of the maids recognized him as he ran past, apologizing to those he stumbled into. His chest heaved as he ran through the halls, a whole nother maze before him. How could he find the exit before the guards found him again?   
  
Lowell had been speaking with the active King about the once queen, Stanford’s soulmate, when one of the maids ran up to them, breathless. She waved her hands frantically as she struggled to speak. Lowell maneuvered her into sitting as she caught her breath, forcing the words out.  
  
“He ran!” She wheezed, clutching her hand to her chest as she took deep breaths. “The, the peasant boy! The prince’s soulmate!” Lowell scowled, rising to go inform the guards to be on the lookout before she grabbed onto his sleeve “He’s, He’s running through.. the south wing..” The guard thanked her before turning to the king.  
  
“I apologize, your majesty. I’ll have this resolved soon enough. Please, wait here for Mason’s return while I go fetch his soulmate. Please excuse me.” Lowell gave a quick bow before he ran off down the hall, shouting orders at nearby guards, leaving a stunned Stanford behind.  
  
“Peasant?” The king mumbled to himself, mulling over this new information.   
  
Lowell slid round the corner, following the sounds of muffled shouts and rushed apologies. If William had any sense of direction, he’d be heading straight for Lowell on the north side of the building. He wouldn't let the boy slip through his fingers this time, he decided, he was prepared. It was a blow to his pride that it had even gotten to this point where someone could escape the head guard, the one person in charge of everyone’s safety. If he could he past, there’s no telling who else might as well. Lowell paused to catch his breath; he was getting too old for this. Maybe he should retire. A few of the maids stopped to ask if he was alright, but he waved them off, he had someone to catch.   
  
Stanford sat right where Lowell left him, listening to the chaos around him. He peered into the garden from his seat, analytical eyes searching for his great-nephew. He wondered if William was a beggar or thief, for those were the only types of peasants he knew existed. They were all desperate, all struggling to survive much like William was in that moment. Perhaps he recognized he didn’t belong here, or perhaps Mason was driving him away. No matter the circumstances, William would had to return, he was now connected to the throne as he was at birth. There was no escaping destiny.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William makes one more break for it.
> 
> Introducing princess Mabel, chambermaid Pacifica, advisor Gideon, Guard Wendy, Guard Robbie, and pseudo King Stanley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas
> 
> It's currently 2 AM

The prince stared at the peasant with cold, questioning eyes. His deep blue orbs scanned intently at the other’s gestures. After a couple stiff minutes of hesitation, the boy eventually eased himself onto the ground, scooting his body to sit beside of the other male. With every movement the decorations on his clothing jangled together in soft clicks. The brunt couldn’t bring his gaze to look to the male alongside him; the prince instead ran his fingers over the neatly cut grass that was beneath him, the soft blades making his hands tingle with its foreign texture.

His muscles felt tense under the soft gaze of the peasant before him, his stomach churning with a feeling of unsureness. His face forced a fake, awkward smile in return to the other’s, though it had hardly even represented a smile. Under Will’s stare Mason was uneasy, though a twinge of dread spiked in him when he thought to open his mouth in negativity again, the phantom of the stinging sensation still dancing about his cheek. With his soft pink lips pressed together, the prince couldn’t help but hum to fill the stiff silence that fell between the two. His eyes would move from the grass, to the flowers that were placed about the garden, but ultimately the male’s eyes would fall back to the other boy before him.

Though, as quickly as the brunt had looked to the black haired boy, he was just as quick to flick his gaze somewhere else, not willing to meet the other’s calm gaze. There was a light wind that rustled through the garden, the faint smell of the roses that the breeze had picked up was enough to ease the prince’s nerves. With a soft breath, the prince finally shattered the delicate glass of silence.

“It is… nice to meet you too…” Mason’s voice had come off just as soft as Will’s had, surely a pleasant change from the yelling the poor peasant had endured earlier. As Will examined the prince’s face, Mason couldn’t help but fidget due the other’s closeness to him, looking to the ground the prince attempted to avoid the other’s light blue eyes as Will had taken in his pale features. It wasn’t until the peasant had moved forward to brush his fingertips against his face did the brunt’s eyes finally dart upwards.

His dark eyes shone with nothing but shock, unprepared for the other to be so forward about touching him. Both his chest and stomach tightened, his heart beating a touch faster at the quick meeting of the two male’s eyes. Mason squirmed in discomfort as he was able to feel the roughness of the other’s dirtied, calloused hands tracing the birthmark that graced the soft, smooth skin of his forehead. Each gentle touch left behind a gritty trail of dirt and minerals across his clean, pale skin. The prince’s lips parted, the sounds of objection tumbling from them, though he knew his protesting was futile against the other’s curiosity. A scowl seemed to develop, the brunt’s facial features sharpening in annoyance as the peasant further poked and prodded at his birthmark, admiring it.

For the most part Mason was silent, save for an attentive hum at the other’s words every so often. No matter how badly the males lungs burned to tell the peasant to leave him be, the prince knew it was best to bite his tongue. At the other’s sound of disappointment, Mason had looked up in time to witness the black haired boy assault his own tongue with his dirtied fingers. The confused expression on his face rapidly altering to one of utter horror as Will then ran his thumb across his forehead once more. The coolness of the saliva against his skin was enough to cause a sudden shout to emit from the young prince. His skin crawled in disgust at the other’s DNA and dirt combined gliding about his flesh.

Mason had been in complete shock that the dark haired boy had even considered it in the first place. The prince wasn’t one to care much for filth or germs. He never had experienced it much before as he and his family had lived in a constant state of cleanliness, though he was amazed that in only a few hours had both of those boundaries been crossed further than he ever intended them to be. As he felt the dirt on his forehead smear against his delicate flesh, sounds of pure disgust and worry became a constant flow from his mouth, pushing himself a small distance away from the peasant. Mason was nearly begging for Will to get the dirt off of him. Growing desperate the prince had tugged at the sleeve of his crisp uniform, bringing enough fabric over his wrist to wipe away the grime that was settling on top of his birthmark. Both a mix of rage and abhorrence reflected in the brunt’s eyes as he watched the calm boy before him spit away the dirt from his mouth as he search for a way to clean up his mess.

Dirt didn’t seem to be an emergency to the farm boy, but to Mason it surly felt as if it was. With an exasperated huff, he watched Will wander away to search the labyrinth of a garden, leaving him to his own devices. A new, and emptier silence fell across Mason, the only sound to fill the quietness was the heavy heaving of his chest from his near tantrum. Though, the longer the peasant was gone, the lonelier the prince became. Without Will’s endless talking the silence around him became deafening. Drawing his knees to his chest, the male rested his face in his hands before running his fingers through his soft caramel kissed curls, taking a moment to regather himself.

Mason forced his eyes to shut tight, giving another sigh as he let the quietness envelope him. Everything was moving so rapidly for the young prince, his temples had begun throbbing with a developing headache. There were so many concerns running though his mind, the worry and anger was beginning to push a sickening stress onto the young male. Did Stanford know of his soulmate yet? What would he think of him? How was the future king to produce an heir to the throne to live on after him, to carry on the royal family’s name? Who was to rule his kingdom next? The fear of uncertainty crushed Mason’s chest. The anxieties of his princely duties had always been looming over his head, more of a threatening presence than a privileged one. There was a constant need for Mason to hope he was doing everything correctly as a prince to ensure he was making his parents proud, but nothing about this day would make either of them proud of him. Had he been too harsh on William? Undoubtedly. His past and current issues should not have been any reason to treat Will the way he had, but there was no way to take back his past actions. His face began to burn in hot shame, the time alone allowing him to reflect.

He remembered his mother telling him and his sister that there was beauty in everyone, even if it may not be straightforward. To really know a person, they could not judge by how one may have looked or what social status they ranked, but rather learn what is in their heart. She had told them this whenever they were out and about in public, meeting new civilians or other royal parties. Both she and the king were so caring for their subjects. They never saw as if they were above, but rather equal. Even if there wasn’t much time for the twin’s parents to give physical affection, they had always been gentle and kind to them with words and gestures. However over the years, Mason and Mabel had begun to forget the way it used to be, as they were both so young when their parents had passed.

Under Stanford’s control, he had always been cold and analytical, focused more on politics rather than the satisfaction of the people within his kingdom. He felt as if the monarchy was above all else and so that is what he had too wanted the prince and princess to be taught as well. Upon learning of Will’s family, and the deep connection he shared with both his parents, Mason couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Why was Will to be blessed with his parents, while Mason had not been so lucky? A sting of swelling tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to apologize, not only to Will, but his parents. Though, another part of Mason still felt too much dignity to swallow his pride in front of the farm boy.

The peasant’s words seemed to echo over and over in the Gleeful’s mind, of course he didn’t know what a family really was, he never had a chance to learn. Even with the highest education, Will would always have more knowledge of love and family than Mason ever would. Wiping the beginnings of his tears away from his eyes, the brunt let his gaze fall to the mark that forever graced the palm of his hand and that would forever remind him of this day. With a deep, shuddering breath Mason finally snapped from his abysmal thoughts as he heard the steps of Will finally returning. He let his eyes adjust to beginnings of the setting sun, the light oranges and pinks beginning to seep into the sky.

Blinking at the peasant before him, Mason nearly mistook Will as someone else. The cleanliness of his freshly scrubbed skin and his shining dark hair made him nearly unrecognizable. Mason sat still, never leaving his spot in the grass as Will kneeled before him once more. The prince’s mouth was slightly parted in awe, though the rest of his facial features wouldn’t be able to give away his incredulity. Will was by no means any different, only cleaner, and as he came closer Mason could more easily count all the darkened freckles that adorned the other’s face. Mason had ultimately forgotten that there were splotches of dirt that still clung to his own skin until the second time Will had attempted to wipe away the dirt.

However, this time the prince had been too drained to protest the male again. He merely sighed, allowing the dirt to be lifted from his face, noticing a gentleness to Will that he hadn’t before. But before Mason could open his mouth to the other, he was left to watch Will go off once again, his face dropping. Letting the other male’s words sink in, Mason sat in silence for a moment before pushing himself off the ground to finally follow after him.His legs felt like heavy lead, tingling as the blood was finally flowing sufficiently through them once again.

Will was long gone, along with Lowell by the time Mason had reached the garden’s doors, which had confused the prince as he slipped back inside the palace. He let his eyes move about the entrance, though at the sight of the heaving woman and the King before him, Mason thought about turning around to go right back outside. His body froze at the sight of Stanford, his throat dry, making it difficult to breathe. For a minute Mason was unable to move, his mind still cloudy from his previous thoughts. Though, the prince eventually brushed out his outfit, before bowing to the King with a visibly perturbed and rigid posture.

“Uncle.” The boy had murmured as he straightened his stance once again, only allowing his gaze to hold with his relative for a few short moments.

“Ah, there you are, my boy.” The older Gleeful had announced, stepping closer to Mason to put a hand to his shoulder. His heels clicked under the polished marble flooring, echoing throughout the large, empty hallway; the fabric of his cloak rustling with each movement. “It is my understanding that your soulmate has been located, is that true?” The king’s voice was gruff, but by no means did he seem bothered with anything regarding the last few minutes he had spent with Lowell.

With a nod from the prince, Stanford continued. “Have you been treating your guest well?” At this, there was a look of guilt that fell over Mason’s face, his eyes not daring to make direct contact with the other. And by his nephew’s expression, the king gave a soft sigh in understanding, continuing to speak. “Because, you know Mason, meeting your soulmate should be one of the greatest moments of your life. For the both of you, really. There is always an element of surprise that comes with meeting your soulmate; it is almost as if when you meet them, you already feel a deeper connection with them than you had with anyone else before in your life. At least that is how it was for your aunt and me.”

With a wavering voice, the brunt spoke in a softer tone, toying with the button at the cuff of his sleeve as if he were a young child again. “This is nothing like what I’ve been told about, Uncle. It’s not the way things were supposed to be. What kind of fate shatters our royal family chain?” His gaze finally met his guardian, his eyes shimmering in pure question.

“How can I learn to love someone who is nothing like me? He’s a peasant. Nowhere near royalty. There is nothing we have in common. Nothing to love about one another.” With a heavy sigh, the king led the prince to the window that displayed the garden. The two stood in silence for a few moments, taking in the details of the outdoors.

Eventually, Stanford cleared his throat, finally finding the right words to say after searching for them within the silence the two had been holding. “A soulmate, Mason, is one who was made to love and cherish you, and vice versa. Even if you may not understand the circumstances now, there is reason. You may not agree with them at a first. I am sure you find it strange to love that of another male, but nevertheless, the universe is always wise when choosing. You both were created to balance one another out. To teach one another, learn from one another. I hope to think you haven’t driven the poor boy away. He was made for you. And you were made for him. It is that simple, Mason. It is your destiny, and there is no changing that.”

William could hear shouts from the halls around him, nearly drowned out by his own heavy breathing and the slap of his feet on the marbled floor. He wasn't used to running on such solid ground, the flooring smooth and strong beneath him; it aided his speed, but the consistency of the pattern was not helping him find his way. He flew past maids and guards, drawing more attention to himself than he had meant to, but as soon as he set this into motion, there was no way for him to simply stroll out now. The hallways all looked the same to him as he slid around corners and sprinted down corridors, searching for the extravagant entrance he’d been walked through upon arrival earlier that day.

However, the faces he passed were a blur and nothing looked familiar, it was as if he was running in circles with a faceless danger on his heels. William paused, briefly, at an intersection between hallways, head whipping back and forth as he debated taking a left or a right. He’d usually been able to trust in his instincts, but now his mind was racing with panic, a desperation he’d never felt before now. He debated for a few seconds, darting down the left hallway as pounding footsteps met his ears, voices raising as they approached. William breathed in deep and ragged, the air thicker and less fresh than he was used to in the outdoors. He felt boxed in, confined in the palace walls. The windows he passed didn't even have latches, indicating they didn't open up to let the air mingle and clear. The peasant stumbled as his bare feet met carpeted floor, a sudden transition that sparked premature hope in his heart.

He ran with a renewed vigor, fatigue easily ignored as he clutched the medicine closer to his chest, worried more about it than himself. It had to be delivered, he reminded himself. It cost most of their earnings and it was his mother’s last chance at survival. He had to quickly push his emotions to the side before the tears could disrupt his vision. He could see the end of the hallway opening up, giving way to the grand entrance that was the only familiar sight to him other than the garden he had just fled from. His sprint slowed to a light jog as his eyes darted around in a quick surveillance, taking in the two guards posted by the door and the grand staircase to his left.

Lowell could be heard from somewhere ahead of him, barking orders in a wheezing voice, out of breath himself. William felt almost bad for putting the older man through all this, but he could ask for forgiveness later. William stood in the center of the foyer, bouncing from foot to foot, as servants and guards on either side began to converge, the two at the door blocking the only exit. They were quite a pair: the one on the right was surprising enough a female, with hair longer than was considered practical, and a fire in her eyes that promised mischief and a fight, the boy to her left looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but there, a borderline offended look on his young face at the idea of having to do actual work. He was tall and lanky, something William could used to his advantage and push through if given the chance, but the heavy doors behind them had already been shut and secured by the guards on the outside and Will would have a hell of a time trying to reopen the doors while not getting nabbed by too many rough hands.

As a last resort, near seconds away from getting tackled, William turned towards the stairs, already taking a step towards them when the sight before him had his breath getting caught in his throat. Standing at the top of the elegant staircase, was a young lady. Her hair cascaded down around her in regal curls, her eyes a familiar blue, lacking the same warmth. She, too, wore deep blue, a dress looking weightless as it flowed around her and rested just above her heeled feet, the petticoat beneath pushing the dress out in an exaggerated show of her status.

She stared down at William with mild disinterest, face carefully blank as she took the first step down the stairs, her black heels making a soft click that was easily drowned out by the foyer filling with other people, their shouting and seeking hands converging on William at once. He couldn’t look away from the lady before him as he was forced onto his knees by a guard, the medicine falling abandoned on the floor before him as his arms were pulled behind him, hard enough to feel the burn in his muscles. A soft hiss left his lips, eyes screwed shut for only a moment as the sharp pain faded. Lowell’s voice was ringing in his ears as the man spoke, possibly reprimanding him, possibly asking what was going on. His words were lost on the peasant, muted by the approaching lady. The princess simply continued on her way down the numerous stairs, eyes fixed on William’s gaze as she made her decent. She appeared unaffected by the chaos on the floor below her, a perfect face of elegance and power.

As her feet hit the bottom floor, a hush fell over the crowd, a collective breath held as she crouched before William, scooping up the crumpled package into her lap.

“Who is this,” She asked, voice inquiring, yet stern. Her near bored eyes didn’t leave the peasant’s own panicky and desperate ones. She reached out a hand to grip his chin, fingers digging mercilessly into his cheeks as she turned him this way and that, inspecting his features with pressed lips and a hidden cruelty. Lowell, who was quick to fall to his knees at the arrival of the princess, was quick to provide an answer, voice breathless and unsteady.

“He, your majesty, is the prince’s soulmate.” He gestured with a flap of his wrist towards William, who’s awed expression morphed to one of pain as her hold only tightened. His skin was soft under her touch, nearly breaking beneath her nails, a gentle kind of pain that held promises tainted with misfortune. Mabel eventually pulled her gaze away as she stood, dragging William up with her. He was held down to eye level, defiance shining through as he attempted to wretch himself away from her bruising grip. She smiled, briefly, then and released his face, hands folded beneath the package she now held.

“Of course that brother of mine would get stuck with some peasant,” Her laugh was dry and humorless, a harsh sound that reminded William of the crows that circle the sky, searching for wounded prey to pick apart. Mabel’s smile fell as quickly as it had come, a practiced neutrality to her face that did little to hide the disgust in her voice as she looked William over fully. “Clean up this fool and dress him as a proper gentleman should. I’m sure he’d look dashing in the house blue,” She addressed the maids as she spoke, but her stare was on Lowell, a fire lit in her eyes that was only what William could interpret as envy.

The princess tossed the medicine to the guard without so much as a word, silently instructing him to dispose of what ever she’d dirtied her hands picking up. “Tell Mason his soulmate is simply a doll, would you, Lowell?” Said guard nodded with a bow, right hand pressed to his chest as a show of loyalty. Mabel left the room with another laugh, servants quick to part to let her through. One boy did stumble after her, sputtering about some schedule she had that day.

William didn’t get much more time to think before he was being manhandled once more, maids poking and prodding at him as they pushed him towards the wash, muttering about his warm skin tones and soft looking hair. William sputtered and squirmed, the nameless guard from before holding firm to his arms as they walked.

“Lemme go! I don't have time ta spend here playin’ dress up!” William’s cried were ignored as he was pushed into the washroom, left alone with a group of giggling girls and an empty tub. He awkwardly cleared his throat, gaze flicking between their saccharine faces and the door. He’d always been taught to be kind to women, to respect them and never hit them. He couldn't very well push the ladies out of the way to make another break for it, but he couldn’t stay here. For all he knew, the guard could be positioned outside, waiting for him to try and escape again. 

William pursed his lips as he stepped back, the women quick to follow. Two had rushed behind him to start filling the tub while their companions pawed at his clothes, tugging at the rags loosely hanging from his body. “Ladies, ladies please,” William stuttered as he pushed their grabbing hands away, a deep flush to his cheeks as they giggled again, ganging up on him in his docile state. Truly, there was nothing he could do as he ended up in the tub with way too many hands pulling him this way and that to scrub every last inch of his skin.

His face burned brightly as the women lingered, the fingers in his hair scraping against his scalp in an oddly calming way. Before he knew it, water was being dumped on his head and he was being pushed up from the tub, towels thrown into his arms as the maids left, replaced by a new group that had him reeling in embarrassment all over again as they drug in racks of clothes, holding up various pieces to his shivering and very much still nude frame. All words died on his tongue as a set of clothes were laid out on the counter for him, and just like that he was left all alone again, dripping wet and feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life.

Quickly, he dried off and pulled on the clothes provided for him. The clothes were snug fitting even if they weren't tailored for him specifically. The trousers clung to his hips and thighs, though they were a little long; clearly mean for someone taller than himself. The maids had left him with a black shirt with more buttons than he’d ever seen and a thick blue vest that seemed to stop at his waist in the front and split in half in the back as it approached his knees. The lace on the high collar tickled his neck and he felt stuffy in the clothes, though he wasn’t even sure if he’d put them on properly. He stood in front of the mirror above the countertop, turning this way and that, trying to figure out why the clothes looked so off.

A tentative knock at the door pulled him from his mulling as the door opened, a head of the brightest blonde hair he’d ever seen peeking in.

“Excuse me?” Her soft voice called as she stepped in, her eyes looking around until he spotted William standing on the far side of the washroom. Pacifica brightened at the sight of her new ward, and approached him with a newfound energy.

“Good afternoon sir! My name is Pacifica and I’ll be your personal chambermaid from now on.” As if on auto pilot, Pacifica began fixing William’s clothes: rebuttoning and tucking in his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles in the vest, and even managing to slide a belt around his waist before the man came to his senses.

“Ma’am, I don’ r’lly understand what’s happenin’ right now.” William was nothing if not an honest man, and his mind was a jumbled mess of obligations and what was actually happening. He felt as if he was stuck in a tug of war, where he was trying to go back to the things he knew and what he thought his needs were, and life was pulling and bullying him in another direction. He felt alone and a bit scared, but mostly he felt remorse and frankly anger. He’d been thwarted in his escape and the princess had basically sentenced his mother to death, something he was finding to be a connecting theme between the royals here. Pacifica offered William a reassuring smile as she ruffled his hair in a towel before dragging her fingers through the curls, styling them naturally.

“You’re a member of the royal family as far as the palace is concerned now, sir. The king knows of your existence and has already requested to see you once you're presentable.” The maid paused to look over her handiwork, letting out a low whistle. “I don't know what everyone was talking about you being ugly for. You're practically glowing.” Her blunt way of speaking left William flushing under the praise, a shaky smile on his face, though his eyes showed his lonely resignation.

“I guess I aint goin’ home now.” William straightened himself up, shoving his feet into the odd leather shoes left for him. They were shiny, bright enough he could see his own reflection as Pacifica tied the laces into simple bows. She stood back up and gave his jaw a pat as she motioned for him to follow her out of the room. He was quick to fall into step with her, and everyone they passed seem to do a double take, as if not recognizing William as the peasant from before.

“You and Master Mason are the talk of the palace right now.” Pacifica, it seemed, liked to chatter, and William could do nothing but listen as they moved through various hallways to a destination he wasn't sure of. “The princess herself has been raging about you since she left the foyer. Poor Gideon is in for a rough day.” She laughed, loud and bright as if she had told a funny joke, and William was left marveling in the sound, a sharp contrast to Mabel’s lifeless noise. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but her voice was enough to calm the anxiety and heavy emotions swirling inside him. Pacifica continued to chatter about the spectacle William put on earlier the day with slapping the prince, seemingly amused by his boldness.

Almost as soon as the one sided conversation started, it ended. Pacifica left William with a bow at double doors, gesturing for him to enter. She stood off to the side long enough to see him actually step inside the room before she vanished to return to her duties. William heard the heavy door shut behind him, the sound booming in the grand room. The throne room. A carpet laid under his newly shoed feet, leading up to a set of four thrones. All of them which were occupied. William stood, frozen, at the end of the carpet, unsure of what he should be doing under all their stares. The older gentlemen he hadn’t had the pleasure to meet yet, but the younger two he had, and the shame was quick to color his cheeks as a reminder of what he’d done that day. He didn’t dare take a step forward, nor one back. He kept his back straight and head high, gaze meeting those in the room.

“‘Scuse me.” He began, voice loud in the thick silence of the room. William took a breath to calm himself before speaking again. “That young lady over there has tookin’ somethin’ from me and I’d like ta have it back please, if ya’d be so kind.” One of the older men, the scruffier man, let out a booming laugh, hand slapping the shoulder of the man beside him. Of the four of them he seemed the most disheveled, almost as out of place as William himself. He didn't try at all to contain himself, a savage roughness to him the others ignored. Stanford ignored his brother, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, fingers intertwined under his chin.

“William, was it?” The young man nodded, “My name is Stanford. I’m the king. My brother Stanley here, is our military leader.” He nodded towards the still cackling man beside him. “The other two here are our great niece and nephew, Mabel and Mason, though I've been told you’ve met already.” Another nod. “As I’m sure no one as properly explained to you, I’ll tell you this. You are prince Mason’s soulmate, a member of the royal family by way of that mark on your palm. You’re not going home, and the life you had before now is over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be another update soon depending on when the next roleplay reply comes in
> 
> Thank you for being patient


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Candy, Mabel's Chambermaid.
> 
> Here we get to see a bit more about Gideon, Pacifica, and the relationship between Mason and Mabel, amongst other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year, New Name, New Title, New Chapter, New Co-Author.
> 
> Happy New Year! It's great to see y'all are still interested in this fic. As you can see I changed my username from Momocita to PumpkinChair but I dont really have an explanation. I also changed the title bc my co-author and I liked this one better. And who is this co-author? None other than the lovely lady that is the Mason rper for this fic. isnt she great? 
> 
> This entire chapter was written by her since our rp responses have been upped to 3k words or more each due to our competitiveness. Alas, I'm left with moving the plot along while she just shows the flip side of the coin. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy and show our new author some love!
> 
> Just for house keeping's sake I, Momo (PumpkinChair), will continue to post the chapters by myself. Kat (ConLeche), is just here to share in the wealth.

The soft patterning of the king's footsteps down the large marbled hallway soon faded into a deafening quietness. The prince again was left alone, the icy silence quilting over him like a new fallen snow against Fall's dying colors. Mason stood still, letting the past few hours seep into his mind as he stared blankly out the window to the garden. The mid-afternoon sun was streaming in to kiss the prince's pale features, giving his light complexion a warmer glow. His messy oak colored curls that fell tiredly around his face reflected the light in golden strands. Exhausted blue orbs had also caught the yellowing light, the raging stormy seas within the male's eyes now calming waves with speckles of the sun's rays swimming about them.

Eventually the Gleeful tore his gaze away from the outdoors to make his way back to his own bedroom. He kept his gaze downwards, admiring the differentiating colors within the marble. The tans and topes swirled together, interlacing with one another in soothing patterns. Though, the prince was abruptly pulled back to his senses as a driving force collided with his chest and stomach, nearly stealing both his breath and balance in the process.

"Goodness! My... my apologies your highness." A timid and breathless voice had blurted out to the prince. Before the Gleeful had stood a short and stout boy, who was quick to bow in his presence, before meeting his frightened baby blue eyes to the Mason's darker ones. He had stood at least a foot shorter than Mason, shrunk away from the other male, anxiety swelling within him. His face was round, pale chubby cheeks littered with light freckles were now flushed from exhaustion. His bright white locks fell messy atop his head, his clothing rather disheveled and breathing ragged from his running about the castle. He looked to be only fourteen or fifteen years old, his features rounded and younger looking, lacking the sharpness of an adult.

Standing before the Gleeful, the boy had briefly prepared himself to be tugged upwards by his collar, the voice of the prince demanding an apology as he had endured in the past, though nothing came. Giving a deep sigh the prince looked over the shorter boy a few times before continuing his walk, speaking as he did so: his voice unsettlingly calm. "Just- be more careful next time, Gideon." The heavy breaths from the younger boy calmed, his fearful features sinking into confusion as he watched the prince stride away from him. No yelling? No threats or insults? The white haired boy stood dumbfounded, Prince Mason had always been easy to set off that it came as a shock to him that he had let go of his error so easily this time around. Breaking his intense focus on the royal, Gideon shuffled after the prince, still unable to fully catch his breath.

Mason didn't break his gaze ahead of him as Gideon moved to walk beside him, struggling to keep up with the prince's longer strides. "Are you feeling alright? Is there anything I can get you, sir? I was supposed to get back to the princess, but if you need anything I can-" His rushed words were silenced by the wave of the other's hand.

"No, no. I'm quite alright. I'm sure you don't want to keep my sister waiting around for you. But, if you see Pacifica, do send her my way." With that, the taller boy had taken a sharp left turn to climb a narrow staircase to the second floor that led to his room. The only sound that could be heard was the prince's climbing footsteps and the light rustling of clothing that accompanied his movement.

Running clammy hands through his unkempt hair the shorter boy huffed before turning to continue his way back to the princess, still mildly confused with the prince's behavior. Gideon had only recently become an advisor, his training starting young so he would be less of a hassle to train rather than an adult who could only endure the job for so long. For his age, the boy was responsible and fairly intelligent. His mother had been a tailor for the royal family for years, his father baker who had worked in the middle of town. They had run into one another when his father had been making a special delivery for the royal family's grand ball. As quickly as they had run into one another, there already was some sort of spark there. Everyone practically knew that with the loving look they had in their eyes, they had both found their soulmate that night.

Soon after their marriage, the royal family had offered his father a spot in the castle's kitchen staff, eventually climbing his status to head chef. Gideon was basically born with the promise of a job for the royal family, but not one he would ever learn to enjoy. Being mostly around to take care of the princess, Gideon learned quickly how ill willed and cold the royal family was, Mabel in particular. If it was his choice he would've chosen the prince over the princess. Where Mason was quick tempered and condescending at times, Mabel was heartless and hostile constantly, her personality as appealing as a dagger to the heart. He could learn to cope with Mason's anger issues, but Mabel's conniving personality was unbearable. Though she had thought he was "the most sweet and adorable thing she had ever laid eyes on" when he had been first introduced to her, Gideon had found keeping up with the princess's demands to be tiresome.

As Mason walked through the brightly lit corridors, he stopped to a larger set of double doors that were more extravagant in detail compared to the others. The doors were painted white with elegant swoops and swirls of gold about it; a skillful and detailed painting of the royal family crest rested neatly between both doors. With a sigh, the prince had pushed on the cool metal of the expertly crafted door handles, no gentleness in closing them as he entered. The slam gently shook the crystals of the grand chandelier that hung in the center of the male's high ceilinged room, the noise reverberating not only through his room, but the rest of the hallway as well.

Walking over to sit on the edge of his bed, the boy fumbled with the tie around his neck that kept his cape in place before tugging at his jacket sleeves, peeling off the top of his worn attire until his undershirt was left. Setting aside his jacket, the prince laid back on his bed, face sunken in with a bitter expression. There were still burning embers of anger glowing within him, unable to cool off. His endless thoughts kept fueling them; it would take only one spark to sizzle against his raging mind to explode into high, dangerous flames once more. He was still bitter of his soulmate for multiple reasons, and petty ones at that. He was bitter that no one even considered his feelings throughout the entire ordeal, the search for his soulmate ending being of the utmost importance. A soulmate he didn't even love.

Mason's soft breathing was the only thing to fill the room for a quite some time, until there was a soft knock on the heavy oak doors. A sweet voice came from outside them, muffled by the barrier. "Master Mason? It's Pacifica. May I come in?" Bringing himself to sit back upright, he blew a few curls away from his face.

"Yes. Do come in." His voice was tired sounding, though was still able to fill up the bigger room as a small woman, and another woman behind her entered.

"Gideon had informed me that you were in need of assistance?" Straightening out his shirt, Mason nodded with a soft huff.

"Yes, I am a complete mess at the moment and thought freshening up would help. I was hoping you could run some water and fetch a new outfit for me. This day has been absolutely dreadful."

With sympathetic eyes and face sinking in understanding she turned to the young woman behind her, "Would you please run some water for the kind man?" With light nod the other maid was gone to leave Pacifica and Mason alone. Pacifica had grown closer to Mason than any of the other caste staff. Being around the age of the twins, it was easier for her to understand them. She had served the royal family a little longer than Gideon had her gentle and optimistic nature around the prince and princess had been comforting to the both of them, especially after losing their parents. She always had the right words to say and had always been a patient young woman despite the coldness from the royals.

"May I sit?" Her voice was gentle to Mason, her eyes soft compared to his cold ones. The prince nodded as the smaller framed woman sat, keeping some distance between them. "Now what could be so terrible about today? You have your soulmate now, sir. Everyone's talking about it, shouldn't you be excited?" Giving a sharp, spiteful laugh the prince shook his head.

"No. I have no reason to be. I had everything planned perfectly. I'm going to be king soon. I lost hope long ago of finding a soulmate, just as my sister had. I have more important things to be thinking about, our kingdom’s future is in my hands. And when I'm finally brought a soulmate... I'm brought some sort of joke. He's an embarrassment, Pacifica! I'm so humiliated by him. He's disrespected me so many times already and he's only been in my palace for a few hours."

"Well, your highness to receive respect you must give it first. I may not have any place to say this but," With gentle fingertips, the blonde had grabbed the male's chin, turning his attention to her, almost mother-like. Her hands soft, barely a pressure against his delicate skin. "You need to stop feeling so sorry for yourself, sir. Your bitterness I'm sure is driving the poor boy away. Forget everything you've been told about meeting a soulmate because everyone's story is different. No one thinks of you less, we are all so happy for you."

Jerking his head away from her hold Mason's lips pursed in discontent. "Pretending to be less upset over something won't solve anything, Pacifica."

"And being angry over something isn't going to make your problems go away either, your highness." Standing back up, Pacifica faced the prince to continue as the other maid returned to ready the supplies in the side washroom. "Now. I'll go get an outfit ready for you while you clean yourself up." As she was about to turn to turn to leave, another knock came to the door, followed by a shorter woman who only took a few careful steps into the room. Mason was less familiar with the lady who had let herself in, though he quickly realized it was only his sister's chambermaid. She was shorter than Pacifica and looked frail and dainty like one of the China dolls his sister owned. Her cheeks were rosy compared to the rest of her complexion, her thin lips upturned in a sweet smile. She had the features of a foreigner; her dark eyes matched her deep brown almost black hair. It was pinned back carefully, though her neat bangs still rested effortless against her forehead. She had been very sweet when she had arrived to the castle and adored the princess to pieces, her name fitting her personality. She was somehow the only one Mabel had made some sort of friendship with. If one could even call it a friendship. Forcing a small, polite smile Mason nodded to her in acknowledgement. This had resulted in a light giggle from the smaller lady, but was quickly shut down with a stern glance and a clearing of the throat from Pacifica.

"So sorry. I do not mean to disrupt madam, but we have been ordered by the king to tend to our new guest." Giving a nod to the dark haired maid, Pacifica began to move to the double doors, though stopped abruptly once more.

"Oh, that reminds me, your highness. The king has also informed me that he wants to hold a meeting soon and for you to report to the throne room in a timely manner." Turing to exit, her short heeled shoes clicked against the flooring as the two other women followed out behind her. "Now, we'll be off, but do try and have a better day, sir."

Eventually Mason stood, slipping into the washroom. He kicked off his shoes, and pulled off his   
undershirt with an exhausted breath. For the first time since early that morning the prince peered at his reflection in the large mirror that settled above the marble counter. His hair looked out of place, his face still stained with very faint streaks of dirt, easy to see in the paleness of his skin. Dipping his hands beneath the water, he began to wash away the filth that clung to him, before wetting his hair down, pushing back his short, wild curls. The water was a soothing coolness against his warmer skin, his muscles relaxing somewhat. Pressing a towel to his face to soak up the excess water, he looked over his reflection one last time before walking back into his room. There left on his bed was the outfit Pacifica had promised him, a sigh of relief came from the male as he saw the simplicity of her choosing. A single, crisp white full body jacket, the details around the shoulders, cuffs and torso outlined in the royal blue and silver. Along with it was white slacks to match, the same details of blue and silver flowed down the sides in simple lines. The entire outfit fit fairly comfortable and less form fitting to the prince, the pants looser around his legs and ankles compared to others that normally hugged at his hips and thighs.

Finally dressed, the Gleeful begrudgingly slid out of the safety of his own room to make his way to the rest of his family, taking his place in his throne beside Stanford. He nodded to both Stanford and Stanley before shooting a glare that could kill to his sister, who had flashed a smug smirk to him. Plopping down into his seat, he couldn't even make himself comfortable before his sister's voice rang out about the room. "Glad you could join us brother." Mason didn't even bother to move to look to his sister as he leaned back in his seat, rolling his eyes, jaded from his sister's behavior already. "It really doesn't surprise me that you've been stuck with some feculent peasant. What a perfect match for someone like you, brother." She threw her head back in a cackle, her lovely brown curls bouncing lightly with each dry and vile laugh.

Gripping the arms of his throne with a renewed anger, Mason pulled himself forward to twist his body in his seat in order to face Mabel who was sitting on the opposite side of the line. His face had fallen cold, his eyes stony, his jaw clenched in frustration.

Stanford side glanced to his great nephew, before he had raised a questioning eyebrow, eyes falling onto the princess. "Now Mabel. You know that wasn't necessary."

Drumming his fingers against the arm of his throne, Mason cleared his throat. "No, uncle. It's fine. I'm just surprised that there is such big talk from the girl who has such intense feelings for her brother's chambermaid." As the last few words rolled off Mason's tongue his sister's laughter ceased.

Both the older Gleeful men turned their heads to their now sputtering and wide-eyed great niece. "Mason!" Her voice grew high and shrill, laced with embarrassment.

"Really. You should see the way Mabel looks at her," The prince had slumped back into his seat, waving a lazy hand around as he spoke. "Her gasps could stop entire rooms, her eyes get so big it’s a wonder they don't pop out of her pretty little head. Honestly, whoever Pacifica's soulmate is, they better watch out, because Mabel just might sweep her off her feet." With a weak laugh from the prince, the throne room had gone silent, Mason sinking back into the soft blue velvet of his seat. He crossed his leg, one knee resting over the other, his elbow propped up against the arm of the throne, one hand holding the side of his sulking face as they waited for Will to arrive.

"Mason, would you please sit-" Stanford had begun, but was interrupted by one of the large double doors being pulled open. When William had entered the room, everyone's eyes fell to him, though Mason's gaze had lingered on him quite longer. As the boy had moved into the room, Mason subconsciously sat upright, straightening his posture, his eyes growing larger as he continued to look at the boy that stood before him. This couldn't possibly be the peasant that had left him behind in the garden, the boy who had hit him, the boy who caused him so much rage. Leaning himself forward, Mason took in a sharp breath. The way Will's darker hair shone in a clean sleekness under the lights, his his small frame bulked up with a more regal attire that he recognized to be something from his own closet, was enough to take Mason's breath away. His features finally visible, his clean sun-kissed skin and freckles a hidden beauty the prince hadn't seen before underneath the dirt and grime.

Mason's chest began to ache, his heart picking up in pace. It was as if there were heavy cement blocks being placed one by one over his chest, his breaths coming in an uneven, shallow pattern. Swallowing thickly, the Gleeful boy sat back to calm his breathing. He wasn't exactly sure what this feeling in the pit of his stomach was. It felt as if someone had grabbed onto his intestines and twisted and compacted them into a small knot. As much as he hated to be wrong, the gentleman who now stood in front of him had him feeling something strange. He wanted to sit there and admire the other male for hours. Every bad thing that had dimmed Mason's day like rolling storm clouds over the horizon seemed to fall away in cool, heavy raindrops. In a haze of his thoughts it took a moment for Mason to realize that Will had spoken up, his first few words coming distorted and muffled as if the prince had been dunked under water. He had understood every word Will had spoken, but he was so entranced by the other it was hard to keep focused on he was saying.

Hearty, gruff laughter broke through the dense silence of the room. It was a skipping stone to the water of the prince's current state of mind, startling him. Turning to eye his uncle Stanley, Mason's blue daggers shone with perplexity. "Uncle, do listen. His words are just as valid as ours now." Mason had finished his sentence with less confidence in his voice, wondering why he had just defended Will. He shook his head gently as if to shake away thoughts that crawled about him, eyes moving over to Stanford, drawn in by his words. With the last sentence of the king's words enveloping the room much like a dangerous smoke coming from burning flames, Mason's eyes fell, shifting uncomfortably in his place. No one seemed too keen on saying another word, fearful that the noise would act as bullets, breaking the silence into thick, heavy shards.

Mason blew out a soft breath. Even though he knew that Stanford had been speaking on account of William's life, the prince couldn't help but let it seep in that his life was going to be changed too. He couldn't tell if this change would be for the better of him and William, but the uncertainty was enough to make him feel sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm weak for validation so please send some kudos and comments our way
> 
> I respond to every comment personally within 12 hours so don't be shy - Momo


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William's final outburst and the beginnings of trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick for a week but here's a new chapter
> 
> I finally thought up a plot and now I have to change all the tags rip me

William stood his ground in front of the active king, despite the hot tears building in his eyes and the will of his knees to collapse under his numb weight. His nails dug into the fabric around his arms from where they were folded behind him to hide his nervousness. White hot rage swirled in his gut, tempting him with the relief an explosion of feelings and words would bring him. William could feel the venom building on his tongue as he dared to take a step forward, the words he wanted to spill bitter on his pallet. His steps were silent on the carpet, but he wished the clicks of his heels could resonate around the room, to punctuate the silence and make him seem more confident than he was. William puffed out his chest, head held high, as he stood before the thrones, separated only by a few raised steps. His hardened blue eyes stared up at the king before him, lips pressed in a tight scowl. Stanley had since ceased his laughter, peering over curiously at the peasant as he approached. He could say he liked the new addition to the royal family. He had spunk not seen in the spineless servants and other nobility. He was refreshing in the stuffy palace and Stanley believed they’d get along well. No one else, however, seemed to share in his sentiment.

Mabel was pointedly turned away from William, legs crossed elegantly before her with her delicate hands folded in her lap. It was almost like she felt guilt, or perhaps it was just general bitterness from being called out in front of her only superiors by the peasant. William didn’t spare her a glance, determination set into his features as he refused to break eye contact with Stanford. He took a single, quiet breath to gather his thoughts and the attention of everyone present.

“Wit’ respect, sir, yer a murd’rer.” The tense atmosphere from before was near suffocating now. A dark look crossed the king’s face, fingers clenching together tighter. He opened his mouth to speak but William beat him to the punch, a stressed urgency to his voice only wavering under the near onslaught of tears close to spilling down his cheeks. “Yer madame tooked from me med’cine that’s meant fur my Mama, and wit’out it she gon’ die.” He tried to keep his tone pleading, appealing to any sympathy the man may hold within his diplomatically neutral demeanor.

Mabel scoffed, hair flicked over her shoulder when she turned even further away in disinterest and bratty attitude. “I gave it to Lowell to dispose of.” The smooth ice in her voice, the detachment to the subject, left William only that much more angry, and sick.

Bitter hatred crawled up his spine, whispering in his ear that it was all their fault. Everyone in this room was to blame for his mother’s deteriorating health and no one but him seemed to want to do a thing about it. William’s posture shifted, fists balled at his sides and shoulders hunched; he wasn’t going to pretend to be unaffected. He’d never been good at hiding things, always blurting out secrets he held within mere minutes of having them. His mother said honesty was a good trait to have, but it would find him in all kinds of trouble with the wrong company. The Gleefuls must be the wrong company she always talked about.

Stanford took the new information in stride, his posture relaxing as he reclined in the throne, letting the tenseness bleed away, as if he had already dismissed the building argument. “You have no more need to worry about her. You’ll never see her again.” Honey dripped from his words, a smile on his lips that looked nothing but wicked to William. He must have a silver tongue, a knack for lying not many possess. He was obviously a man with dark secrets, with eyes of death and words of knives.

“If I can’t go m’self, send ‘nother.” William was near groveling, knees shaking and desperation clouding his thoughts; desperation and scalding anger. It felt as if it was only two of them in the room, the fire in William met with a wall of nonchalance that could only be achieved by someone with higher ground.

“We don't have the resources to spend on your frivolous requests.” The hatred weighing down the peasants shoulders seemed to ignite at the words. Frivolous. Stanford had called saving the most important person in his life  _ frivolous _ . It was  _ unfair _ , his newfound hatred readily supplied. It was unfair how they were treating him like some child throwing a tantrum over a toy, like if they used a stern enough voice the problem would be forgotten with time. William wasn’t one to forget things, and it seemed now forgiveness was quickly becoming a childish concept in itself. Why should he bring himself to forgive these people when he could scream and lash out, bringing them down with him? No, there was no glossing over this transgression, and the peasant was going to make that known. His mother told him respect was given to strangers, to elders, and to women. She said those who he gives respect to will respect him out of gratitude.

Everything she had ever taught him laid in shambles at his feet as his whole body quaked with barely contained rage, poisonous words spat from his lips. “It’s b’come clear ta me y’all don’ understand nothin’ ‘bout fam’ly. Y’all don’ care ‘bout each other ‘n’ live in’a maze so ya don’ have to see each other.” William’s voice raised as he went on, his previously held back tears streaming down his face. His normally soft and warm voice was bouncing off the walls, echoing in the high ceilings. His ears were ringing with his rushing blood, adrenaline preventing his pace from slowing a single second. “Unlike y’all, I got a real fam’ly. I got a mama ‘n’ a papa that love me ‘n’ I would do anythin’ for them! Y’all’re jus’ standin’ in my way. Y’all wan’ me to stay and marry that spoil’d brat? Fine! Ya wan’ my mama to die? Fine.” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper as he climbed the steps separating him and Stanford, leaning down now that he was taller.

William sneered in his unphased face, the superior detachment on his old features. “Jus’ ‘member yer the one that tied me down.” William stepped back just as the guards at the end of the hall reached him, having run over when he stepped too close to the king. He stepped down without any fuss, straightening out his sleeves as he cooled down from his rage induced fit. Unprompted, William walked back to the double doors he came in, the guards hot on his heels lest he try something funny again. Composed, with tear streaked cheeks, William turned towards the royal family once more, his gaze falling on the princess. He held himself with confidence, authority he shouldn’t be able to wield in their presence. “‘N’ teach the madame to keep her hands ta herself, ‘fore she learns what happens to thieves in the land.” Without much else fanfare, William was pushing his way out of the room, coming face to face with Pacifica, who had been leaning on the wall across from the throne room. Apparently whatever work she had been given only took a small amount of time to complete.

She greeted him with a bright smile, undeterred by his tears and scowl. She was gentle with him as she lead him through the maze of hallways once again. They were halfway up the stairs when she spoke, a comforting hand on his arm. “We finished setting up your room a few minutes ago; I figured you’d want to go there after the talk.” William nodded his head numbly as he followed her down another hallway before he was left alone in front of his room. Pacifica informed him Mason’s room was right next to his before she departed, and William wasn't sure how he felt about the information. He still harbored anger towards the prince, his soulmate, but their heated words seemed so far away in comparison to what he was feeling now. He’d only been in the capital for hours, the palace even less, but he already felt like his life was over, trampled right in front of him.

William choked back a sob as he pushed open the door in front of him, ignoring his lavish surroundings in favor of throwing himself into the plush bed against the far wall. The room was large, probably the size of his home. The floors were wooden, dark and polished, with a royal blue carpet more plush than any grass William had the pleasure to wiggle his toes in. He probably could spend hours just laying on the floor, staring up at the smooth ceiling with the illusion of laying in a field. An empty armoire sat by the door William came in, soon to be filled with clothes custom made to assimilate him into palace life. There were a desk, table, chairs, and other furniture William didn't even know the name of, scattered about the open space, all made of the same dark wood. Everything was ornate, and William wondered if the royals valued beauty over functionality. He kicked off his shoes in childish defiance, a happiness in being freed from the constricting leather. He’d never worn shoes before, never had the need to cover his feet unless it was winter. William curled himself into the soft sheets, feeling as if he was wrapped up in clouds hand plucked from the summer sky. Physically and emotionally drained from his earlier outburst, William fell into a fitful sleep, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes in a vain attempt to keep more tears from being shed.

The throne room was left in deafening silence after William’s departure, no one daring to speak. Stanford frowned, arms crossed over his chest as he burned a hole in the carpet with his gaze alone. William’s words didn't mean anything to him, simply rolling off his hardened exterior, but by not complying with the request, Stanford had backed himself into a corner. Legally, Mason could not become the next king without his soulmate being wedded to him, and since Mabel was born without one they couldn't pass the reign onto her. William had come to understand he held power now, something that was once a foreign concept, and that kind of free thinking was dangerous to the royal family. Stanford clicked his tongue, displeased with the unruly peasant. Had it been anyone else, anyone he didn't need to carry on his will, he’d have them dealt with accordingly; silent assassinations were a fitting end to loose cannons. Instead, he’d have to force him to comply, to lay down his defiance for the good of the kingdom. Mason was already trained, obedient under his great uncle’s tutelage, a successfully crafted pawn. 

With the south threatening to invade, it was a comfort to the king knowing his will would be carried on in the years he’d be gone. Perhaps he could get Mason to control his soulmate when the time actually came for them to take over.

Stanley was the one to break the silence, hands slapping his knees with all the happiness of someone who’d watched a spectacular performance. “I like him.” He said, and that was all spoken on the matter.

Stanford turned to his great nephew, studying his demeanor for a second before speaking. “In time, come to control him. He is an important asset.” The king stood, his heavy cape connecting with the ground a dull thud. He beckoned Lowell to his side as he left the throne room, their voices a dull chatter about the state of their army.

Mabel was quick to escape the throne room, her dress swishing around her legs as she moved quickly, trying to escape the weight on her heart. She had been threatened, openly, by someone untouchable she knew now. Pale fingers caressed the soft skin of her wrists, a phantom cut to what would truly happened to those who stole. It wasn’t a practice for those in the capital to exhibit, but other smaller cities and definitely those in the southern kingdom cut off the hands of thieves.

Mabel rushed out a side door, unable to even look where the peasant once stood. Gideon was quick to race after her when she fled the room, his gentle voice asking if she was alright. She couldn’t be bothered with a reply, brushing him off with a demand for her schedule; there were things to be done even if she wasn’t the one to inherit the throne.

With just Stanley and Mason left, the atmosphere felt a little lighter. Stanley had never been particularly close with either of his niece and nephew, but of the two he’d always been more fond of Mason. He was smart, a mind fitting for royalty, but he wasn't particularly strong. Stanley had taught him how to sword fight, and tried his best to bulk him up, but Mason wasn’t cut out for it. He had potential, Stanley thought, to be a great ruler, as long as he had a strong guard. He was currently in the process of training Mason’s personal guard, an absent minded man known as Soos. Stanley could only pray by the time he’s fallen, Soos will be a somewhat capable knight.

“Ignore my brother,” Stanley sighed, hoping to get Mason’s attention before he, too, fled the throne room. “Your soulmate isn’t meant to be controlled, and he certainly won’t bend to your will. Support him and he’ll support you; that's just how it works.” With a pat to Mason’s head, the older man left, without all the grace and stability of the other royals―perhaps he had fought in one too many battles.

Bill lounged on his throne with all the grace of a sunbathing lion, powerful even in a vulnerable state. The furs around his shoulders held strong as he threw his legs over the armrest, looking out at the servants kneeled before him with dispassionate eyes. It had been months since their last conquest, the taste of bloodshed fading from his tongue and he was hungry for fresh meat, something to sink his fangs into. He’d set his sights on the kingdom pressed to his north for years now, but there was too close of a difference in their strength to promise a successful take over, and Bill only took on things he knew would fall into his hands with ease. But that was changing. Bill was restless from holding himself back, irritated and provoked with another kingdom pressed so close to his borders.

Though his kingdom was old, older than the one to the north, it was young in its expansion and conquest. It wasn’t until his parents’ reign that they began to expand, to absorb the surrounding people and kingdoms. Bill had been raised up on the possibility of death at every turn, sleeping many nights in fear of a coup. He trusted no one, not even his personal guard that had been with him his entire life. Tad was a man older than himself full of smug smiles and teasing words. He’d always acted coy and friendly, and Bill sometimes thought about killing him. But despite their constant bickering, the pair worked well together and they’d never failed in anything they did. 

It raised moral to never have a military loss, and that was what was keeping Bill afloat. There were no heirs to his throne, no one selected to be his next of kin, and it set his citizens at unease. He’d long ago rid himself of his troublesome soulmate, refusing to be tied down when they showed no promise of benefiting him. There were no rules preventing him from ruling without a soulmate, and nothing keeping him from disposing of them as he saw fit. Bill sighed as he shifted in his throne, gesturing for the servant closed to him to speak.

“Teeth, my favorite chatterbox, how goes fortifying the northern border?” The short man quickly scrambled up to kneel directly in front of the throne, a hand pressed over his heart as he kept his head down. No one but a select few people were ever allowed to look the king in the face without his explicit permissions, not even the members of the royal council held the privilege.

“Many of our soldiers have made it there safely. The northerners are unsettled and may become provoked to attack.” He paused, letting the important information set in before he continued after Bill’s hum of approval. “A rumor has caught from the north that the crowned prince has discovered his soulmate. There could possibly be a change in rulers, but it doesn't seem likely at this time.”

Xanthar, a giant of a man that was head of the royal guard stepped up next, voice a low rumble in comparison to Teeth’s higher pitched chatter. “The soldiers say he comes from the land between the two kingdoms. Apparently he’s a peasant as well.” Bill dismissed the information with a flick of his wrist.

“That brat’s love life means nothing to me. Soulmate or not, their kingdom will be mine.” He laughed, a high cackle as his minions retreated to their previous positions. A few of his other advisors relayed to him the state of the country, and he proposed a few ideas for later discussion before they were dismissed.

Bill settled into the left over silence, a frown tugging at his lips. He was sure the Gleeful boy should never have been able to find a soulmate; his parents had taken care of that problem ages ago, and as far as Bill knew, there was no way to acquire a new soulmate. It was probably a sham, after all rumors were usually never true. Though, he could never be too sure.

“Tad.” Bill called, summoning his personal guard and advisor to his side. He looked up at the man looming over him, the usual knowing smile on his face. Tad really got on his nerves sometimes, always acting like he knew something Bill didn’t. “What are the odds of it being true?” Bill asked, reaching up to push the man’s face away so he could sit up in the throne, his armored boots clacking against the floor. He didn’t want to think of the possibility of that brat being alive, of a threat to his rule. Bill didn’t do possibilities, everything was meant to be absolute, to bend under his will.

Tad gave a click of his tongue, mentally mulling over the information. “Well, they say his soulmate comes from a land between ours. A plausible place the late king and queen left him. No one is recorded to live there.” It was empty space, left uninhabited out of fear. Settle too close to the south and risk a plunder, or settle too close to the north and risk a hefty tax for occupying the land. Bill’s frown only deepened as he stood, adjusting the heavy crown on his curls.

“Send Pyronica to verify the information. I need it as fuel for this war. The council may be swayed to see it my way if it’s true.” Despite being absolute throughout the land, the council still held some authority over Bill. He lived to feed his bottomless ego, and the council were the only people to give him what he wanted; the overall acceptance of the people. A war cannot happen without the support of the citizens and the members of the council were their direct voice to the king. Tad gave a brief bow before he left, leaving Bill standing in the empty throne room. He’d have a meeting with the council the next morning to discuss his plans for invasion, but it would take Pyronica a few days to come back with the information he needed to build his case.

Regardless, there would be a war, but a justifiable reason would greatly be to his benefit. With little more than a sigh, the king retreated to his own chambers, ready to pour over unanswered letters and think through strategies. The northern kingdom was vast as it was strong, but there is a weakness in every defense. Despite their cities being surrounded by walls, they were far from each other, and much of the land was still covered in farms. There was ample supplies to be raided between the cities, and word would travel at a slow enough rate to tip the tide in Bill’s favor. Ideally, he’d want to keep Stanley and Stanford separated on the battlefield. Together Bill wouldn’t stand much of a chance. The war, Bill figured, wouldn’t take place until a few months in the future. There was much he had to do to prepare, and his army had gone soft from the lull in battle. He’d waited years already to attack, a few more months would be nothing now.

Tad sighed to himself as he walked down the halls, footsteps light. Bill was too hasty and paranoid for his tastes. Tad had worked well under the late king and queen, offering input and keeping everything more or less afloat. When they had their first child, Tad was assigned to be his protector and teacher, an important job only he seemed fitting for. He was a member of the council, a personal advisor to the king, and now a guard to their son. Bill was spunky as a kid, rotten through the spoils of battle and a bloodlust Tad had never seen in anyone before. Tad had tried to raise him to be sensible and capable, but he became a monster before his very eyes. Smart, cunning, and strong were not traits Tad wished to see combined in one person who lacked any semblance of apathy.

Tad’s knuckle rapt twice against the door of Pyronica’s office, earning him a sweet call from the woman inside before the door was opened. The shorter woman beamed a toothy smile up at Tad, but she was only there for a second before she disappeared back into her office, an unspoken gesture for him to follow. Tad followed with only a moment's hesitation; he had planned to deliver the news at the door then be on his way, but Pyronica always liked to chat more than was strictly necessary.

“What would his royal pain like me to investigate today?” She asked with all the mirth of someone that could get away with insulting the king, settling back at her desk. Papers were strewn everywhere, pens and pencils haphazardly left to roll around the space.

“William Cipher’s death status, if you please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make me happy

**Author's Note:**

> This will have extremely slow updates since I only write half of it


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